What is Finer Than a Bride?
by jkryten2x4b
Summary: FAM Zorro: A sequel to my story, "The Very Finest Thing" About one year after the previous story, someone's past will return to cause serious consequences.
1. Prologue

Smoke stung his eyes and filled his lungs as he entered the building, but he scarcely noticed it. He was determined to get to her. He raised the wet cloth he'd brought, and almost forgotten about, to his face. Where was she?

He could see almost nothing through the smoke, not even flames, but he pushed his way through the entryway looking for a flight of stairs. He thought he could make one out on the far side through the smoke.

"Up the stairs, third door on the left," he whispered remembering her instructions. His eyes rose to the staircase. It was not burning, or at least not that he could tell, but the smoke was so thick he was almost sure it recently had been. The structure was surely compromised. There had to be another way up. But he knew there was not.

He'd exhausted all other options before coming in through the front door. The only second story window not engulfed in flames was facing the sea.

Her whispered words of the night before kept coming to him, "I'm with child…"

A child, his not yet born child, and its mother were at the top of the stairs. Flames stood between him and what had just a few hours ago been his future.

And then he heard her. She was calling his name. Her voice was faint as if she were losing strength. He found himself heading for the stairs, daring the smoke and flames.

"No!" her scream was the last thing he heard as the stairs collapsed beneath him and he was buried in the debris.


	2. A New Cast of Characters

The carriage stopped at 421 Wimpole Street. Six months ago, Felipe would have stared at the town home in amazement. Six months ago, before he'd seen Madrid, Barcelona and now most of London. The busy city streets were now a normal part of his life. He liked them.

He liked the bustle of the people and horses. He liked the shouts from the vendors and barks of the dogs and the chatter of the crowds. And he liked the chatter of his new almost never silent friend Charlie.

Charlie was a loud fun loving Englishman Felipe had met at a fencing match sponsored by the university. Charles Anderton was not a student at the university. He'd been traveling through Madrid on what he called a "grand tour of Europe" and came to the match as a spectator. He approached Felipe to tell him that he was "jolly good" with a blade and before the Californian knew what had happened he'd been practically adopted by the Englishman.

School had been difficult for him. Before leaving for Madrid he'd dispensed with his charade of deafness, but words still stubbornly refused to pass his lips. He'd managed by communicating with a notebook and pencil. Academically he excelled, but it wasn't until he met Charlie that he'd made a real friend.

That was how he found himself going to that man's family home because as Charlie said, "No one should be without family on Christmas, yours are in California so you can borrow mine."

So now he was at 421 Wimpole Street ready to meet Charlie's father, "a good sort though sometimes he's too focused on his specimens to notice you," mother, "very silly, but I love the old girl," and his sisters, "Pip's smart and funny you'll like her, Grace is a bit of a gossip silly like mother, but there it is."

Felipe felt like he knew them already from all of Charlie's stories and when he looked about the cozy home it all just as he imagined it.

Mrs. Anderton practically attacked her son in the corridor before they could even reach the drawing room. She was crying as she held her son. She was a short woman her head barely reaching her son's shoulder.

"My Charlie!" She fairly shouted.

Two girls, the sisters Felipe presumed, stepped out of the drawing room. They were of a height and at first glance could have been mistaken for twins, but when Felipe looked again he noticed that one sister had hair a darker shade of brown, and her nose must have been broken when she was young as it listed slightly to the left. She was thicker too, not portly, just more developed. When he realized where his eyes were straying he looked away quickly.

Charlie's mother pulled away from him and looking at Felipe exclaimed, "But who's this?"

"Mother, Pip, Grace, may I present Felipe de la Vega. Felipe this is my mother, Mrs. Anderton, and my sisters, Miss Phillipa Anderton and Miss Grace Anderton."

Each woman gave a half curtsy at their name and as Felipe approached the woman to greet them, Charlie suddenly began laughing.

Everyone turned to him, "I just realized Phillipa, Felipe… You two have the same name!" He managed a straight face again as he spoke, but then burst out laughing again.

The skinny younger sister began to chortle as soon as she understood the joke as their mother looked on disapprovingly. The older sister only crooked her eyebrow, and waited.

As soon as her brother and sister calmed down she spoke, "Just make sure not to call him, 'Pip' or 'Miss Anderton' so that both of us can avoid the confusion of forgetting who is who."

Her brother started all over again and in the midst of brushing away tears of laughter embraced his sister, "I say, Pip! How I've missed you!"

"And I've missed you, Charlemagne; don't be gone so long next time!"

Charlie's smile grew at her use of her childhood nickname for him.

Felipe smiled later as he recounted the episode later in the letter he wrote to send to Los Angeles. He looked out the window of the guest bedroom, and watched as the street lamps were doused. That night when he closed his eyes he thought of home.

* * *

Across the ocean, Don Alejandro de la Vega listened intently as his daughter-in-law Victoria read aloud a letter Felipe wrote before embarking for England, detailing his Christmas plans. The two sat in the library before the fire on the chilly December evening.

Victoria tried to concentrate on the letter, on her father-in-law's questions, on her plans for tomorrow, anything. Anything, but think about where her husband was. Which was…well she didn't know exactly. Out traipsing about the country side, probably developing a cold or getting shot or…

"What was that?" At Alejandro's voice she looked up.

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing," she answered.

"Oh, my hearing must be going as well as my eyes," he said, but it was clear he knew her mind was elsewhere. "And it's getting late, I'm tired. Goodnight, my dear."

He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head as he passed by on his way out of the room. As he did so he whispered, "Don't worry, he'll be home soon."

She couldn't stop herself from staring into the fireplace for the next hour before heading to a cold and empty bed.


	3. A Campfire and a Breakfast Table

Ignacio De Soto pulled his coat tight against him. It was a chilly night, but instead of lying warm in his bed he was patrolling the lands just outside the pueblo. Only a week ago a gang of bandits had robbed a payroll wagon and his men had gone without pay. He'd been tracking them with no luck since. It was important to him to find them before Zorro did.

The two of them had stopped directly warring with each other, but instead engaged in an unspoken competition. The object to De Soto was to retire the Fox once and for all by showing him that the pueblo was well protected without him. To get rid of him by out competing him.

Right now the lancers were in top form. Better shape than they had ever been. And the two of them seemed to have reached some sort of tie. This new gang should put him over the edge. He was determined to catch them. A patrol had reported the remnants of a camp on the eastern plain and he was headed to investigate.

He saw smoke rising in the distance and knew he was close to his quarry. He approached the camp slowly, silently and cautiously and half convinced a black stallion would impede his progress.

Before he could even see the light from the fire he was knocked to the ground.

He lost his breath from the force of the impact and felt the solid weight of someone on his back holding him down. The bandit reached for his arms as if to hold them behind his back, but he quickly pushed up from the ground to face his attacker.

The bandit was ready for the movement and jumped him again. He didn't realize the rogue was armed until he felt the knife at his throat.

"Who sent you?" came the decidedly female voice. That was when he noticed the softness of the body on top of him. It was a woman, lithe and strong, but indisputably a woman. His body had felt it before his mind had.

He couldn't make out her features in the low light, but her tone was fierce.

"Who sent you?" she repeated and used the knife point to punctuate her question by pressing it more firmly against his throat.

"No one, I'm the alcalde of Los Angeles…" She laughed at that.

"The alcalde? Alone at night? Terrorizing campfires?"

"I'm looking for a group of bandits, how do I know you aren't one of them?"

The silence of the next moment was palpable, and then without warning or preamble she pulled away from him and stood up. She started to walk away and then turned back.

"You don't, I don't have any more proof of my honesty than do you."

* * *

In a small but cozy breakfast room in London, Felipe was enjoying a cup of chocolate and waiting for his friend to appear.

Charlie was always a late riser and it was all Felipe could do to get him up in the morning. Felipe had been a late riser too. After nights of staying up waiting for Diego to return, but with the ability to go to bed at a reasonable hour, he also found that he wasn't naturally so.

He loved London mornings and was enjoying the quiet room when the door opened.

Pip headed straight for the sideboard where breakfast was arranged and hummed quietly to herself as she arranged a plate. She got all the way to the table before she noticed him.

"Oh, it's you," she said in surprise. "I mean, good morning, Senor de la Vega."

Felipe smiled in greeting.

After a moment of obvious confusion, she said, "That's right, Charlie told us about your…"

He waited expectantly and with no little amusement for her choice of euphemism about his muteness. However, she never uttered one.

Her sister came bounding in the room with a sheet of paper covering her face.

"Pip! You'll never believe what is in the society column! All the impending matches this season. I can't wait for it to begin!"

Pip smiled and rolled her eyes at Felipe who hid his smile in his cup.

"I can imagine, dear. Tell me all about it," was the indulgent older sister's response and Grace went on to name all the people that the column speculated would be engaged by the end of the season.

"There's Mr. Carew and Miss Trafford, but everyone was expecting that last season, and the widow Monahan and Mr. Villar, but the talk of London is the expectant match of Lady Lillian Pumphrey and her cousin the new Marquess of Stallford," Grace looked at Pip as if waiting for a gasp of amazement, but Pip wasn't amazed, Felipe was.

He almost spit his chocolate back into his cup. Wasn't Lady Lilly married to the major by now?

When Pip didn't respond, Grace groaned in frustration.

"Don't you remember? Two years ago when she made a fool of herself over that bastard sergeant or whatever?"

"Grace!" Pip spoke sharply. "We don't use that word!"

"Well he was!"

"Regardless we don't use that word," and she looked pointedly toward Felipe. Grace fairly jumped in her seat.

"Oh! I didn't see you! You shouldn't be so silent, Senor de la Vega, you'll frighten people that way," her voice was full of indignation.

Pip put a hand on her forehead closed her eyes and began to shake. It took Felipe a moment to realize she was laughing, and her merriment made him want to laugh too.

Charlie wandered in to find Pip and Felipe laughing as Grace looked at them with fury.

"I say, isn't it a bit early to be terrorizing Grace?" his sister looked up at him.

"Apparently it's never too early!" she walked out angrily as Charlie joined the laughter.

After they'd all caught their breath, Felipe's mind went back to the news he'd just heard.


	4. Three Conversations

"Phillipa! What are you doing?" her mother demanded, entering the room like a windstorm.

"Eating breakfast, Mama," she answered calmly.

"You aren't even dressed!"

Pip looked down at herself confused. She wasn't sitting there in her shift.

"Go put on your blue frock. No one will notice you in that tatty thing," and she left as abruptly as she arrived.

Charlie wasn't even trying to hide his laughter.

"She hasn't given up her 'driving in the park in the morning' as a means to find you a husband, Pip?" Charlie was smiling at his sister smugly.

"I wish she'd give the scheme up altogether," she said rising from her place. "I'm more likely to attract an unwitting male without her to frighten them all off."

"Don't ever get married, because then she'll turn her attention to me."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Pip's voice turned serious.

Suddenly concerned for his sister's piece of mind he said. "Don't say that, you'll meet someone."

Her eyes became large, "Oh, I didn't mean that, I meant no woman would have you!"

And with that rude statement she bounced out of the room leaving a glaring brother and a smiling Felipe.

His annoyance didn't last long, however, as soon as Charlie saw the smile on his friends face he burst out laughing.

This was what Felipe liked best about him, Charlie couldn't stay mad at anyone and was quick to see the humor in every situation

"So, Felipe, all of London, in its holiday splendor, awaits! Where would you like to go first?'

* * *

She headed back to her fire knowing the self proclaimed alcalde would follow. Sure enough she could hear the clomps of his feet as he plodded behind her. And now he would ask her what she was doing near Los Angeles.

"Senorita…" he began.

"Senora," she corrected.

"Senora…" he asked with a question in his voice.

They'd reached the fire and she turned to him, "It's Senora Moreno."

"And Senor Moreno?" he asked.

"I'm a widow, alcalde. Anything else?" she didn't bother trying to hide her annoyance.

"Senora, what goes on in this pueblo is my business. I still don't know that you are not part of that gang. Why have you come to Los Angeles?" his annoyance was also evident.

She knew she couldn't trust him with the truth. There wasn't anyone here she could trust.

"I hear there are opportunities in Los Angeles if one is enterprising and hard working," she turned back to her fire. "That is my reason, so now you may leave in peace."

"I cannot leave a young woman alone with bandits about," he sat himself down by her fire as if to end all discussion.

"You will protect me from the bandits?" she asked flatly.

"Si, senora, I will."

"Who will protect me from you, alcalde?"

* * *

A young woman knocked on a large oak door only to be greeted by someone she'd never seen. It was a round pleasant faced woman, but she looked at her guest with contempt.

"Umm, I'm looking for Mr. Fitzgerald," was all she could manage to croak out. That seemed to make the woman angry.

"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald," and then loudly into the house, "Sean Patrick Fitzgerald! There's a girl here for you."

"What?" was the reply from inside the house.

"There's a girl here for you and I'm leaving," with that the woman huffed away from the door.

A confused blinking Mr. Fitzgerald came to the door, "Miss Claire," he almost gasped when he saw her. "Come in."

Claire could hear the sound of the woman shouting something about "all of your little whores" and gestured in the direction of the sound.

"Oh, don't worry about Mary she's only mad at me on account of my being gone so many years and daring to enjoy myself part of the time," he still had that smile he always had as if the ranting was really of no moment. "Come in, come in."

He led her into a small kitchen to a chair by the fire where she promptly began to thaw her extremities.

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald," she whispered as he handed her a cup of tea.

They both heard the front door open, "Sean!" came the shout.

"Yes!" he shouted back without leaving his seat by the fire.

"I'm leaving!""I'll see you tomorrow, darlin'"

"No you won't! I won't be back," and she slammed the door.

To Claire's amazement Fitzgerald was still smiling, "Don't worry that's the third time this week. Now what can I do for you?"

"Surely you've guessed why I'm here?"

He shook his head.

"I'm looking for Major Wright."

This seemed to surprise the Irishman.

"I haven't seen him since we said goodbye in London. He isn't with Lady Lilly?"

"No, he left Lilly without a word. I thought he must have come here…Mr. Fitzgerald we must find him," Claire was desperate.

If he wasn't with Fitzgerald where could he be and why? Was he in danger?

"Miss Claire, I don't know what to say if he left it must have been for a good reason," he shook his head as if a thought occurred to him he wanted to shake away. "God save Ireland!"

"What is it?" Claire asked. He looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Oh, maybe nothing, maybe something…"

"Tell me! If we don't do something she'll end up married to a man that will make her miserable all her days!"


	5. A Familiar Face

Before de Soto could say anything more, she shushed him, and before he could ask about that he heard it far off in the distance. Horses.

"Where is your horse?" she whispered.

He gestured in the direction, but it was too far off to get to.

"All three of us couldn't ride on it anyway…" she was still whispering.

"Three?"

She kicked the fire out and headed for the lump of blankets he hadn't seen until then. She picked them up and headed away from the camp when he didn't follow, she turned around, "Are you coming?"

He followed her to a patch of wood. She slid under a bit of growth that had been piled up, as if waiting for them.

She held the bundle which began to groan. "Hurry up, before they see you." She motioned to de Soto as the horses came closer and closer.

There wasn't much room and when he had joined her he found himself in the precarious position he had been in earlier that night.

She didn't seem to be aware of the situation. She was whispering to the groaning bundle, quieting what he supposed to be a child. He was trying to ignore the soft feminine curves that were so near when he began to hear the horses stop, and the voices of the men.

"She can't be far," he couldn't see much more than the men's feet, but they weren't attempting to be quiet and he heard every word. "She's crafty, she could be hiding nearby." The bandits began to scurry, apparently looking for Senora Moreno.

"I don't think the senorita you're looking for wants to be found," it was a mocking tone de Soto knew well, and if Senora Moreno hadn't stopped him he would have burst from their hiding place. In the end he only whispered, "Zorro!"

* * *

There were three of them. He had been following them all night. He'd watched as they chased after every bit of smoke, looking for some woman, who they only referred to as "that Spanish bitch." The bandits were foreigners and terrible trackers as well. They hadn't even attempted to quiet their approach. Which explained how easily the girl had gotten away, and how easily Zorro, still mounted, had surprised them

Two of the three scrambled at his words, but one simply watched him. It was easy enough to disarm the two. A couple of cracks of his whip and they were holding their wrists in pain.

"I must ask you to abandon your search and leave this pueblo," his sword was pointed at the remaining threat, but the bandit hadn't even gone for his gun.

"You aren't in any position to be making demands," the bandit was looking behind Zorro and when the Spaniard turned to look, he only saw the blur of a fourth man when the pain ripped through his right arm.

The next moments seemed to happen so quickly, Toronado reared and the four bandits mounted their horses and rode off. Zorro had no choice but to return home to tend his wound, and after applying a makeshift bandage, he did just that.

* * *

When Diego stumbled through the fireplace door, he was greeted by his unhappy wife.

"Victoria, you didn't have to wait for me," he said trying not to favor his arm and give away his injury.

"I couldn't sleep, I can never sleep when you go out," she was pacing back and forth before the fireplace. "I can only worry. My mind worries so loud I can only stare out the window or pace before the fire. Wondering if you'll come home, wondering if you've been hurt, or shot."

His body choose that moment to become faint; he couldn't stop himself from groaning and sitting down clutching his arm.

"You're hurt," she sounded more accusing than concerned, but she kneeled down before him and reached for his arm.

"It's nothing, really," he said, but allowed her to examine his injury.

"It's not deep, but we have to stop the bleeding," she got up and left the room. She returned with bandages and water. As she worked at cleaning the wound, she didn't look at her husband's face. "I'm still mad at you."

"I know. I love you, Victoria," he knew the words were no consolation, but saw the corners of her lips turn up for just a moment.

"I know. I love you too, though only God knows why as you've brought me nothing but torment since the day you returned home from Spain," she tied the bandage neatly and was obviously trying very hard not to smile.

He reached out and held her chin gently to lift her face up and she avoided his eyes as he raised his eyebrows and said, "Really nothing else?"

She was genuinely smiling now, still not looking at him as shook her head, but she didn't resist his kiss. When he pulled away she whispered, "Well, maybe one or two other things."

* * *

"So, we need to find, Pip and Grace and after that we head to my horrible Aunt Gertrude's for our weekly call, but after that, Felipe, we go to the theater," Charlie's voice was full of merriment as they walked down a street of fashionable shops. "Look there they are," Charlie pointed down the street where the two girls were, but Felipe saw someone else.

An angel with red gold curls floated out of a shop just in front of them. Felipe halfway hid behind his friend, not sure if he wanted to be noticed by her, but she saw him.

"Felipe!" she shouted in delight as she fairly skipped toward him. Her smile was brilliant and he was horrified to feel that familiar pain in the pit of his stomach to see her again. She was as beautiful as ever, but as he looked at her he noticed she had lost weight and there were deep circles under her eyes.

A sour faced girl followed behind her and Lilly looked back at her companion, "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Briars." She turned back to Felipe still smiling, "May I present, my friend Senor de la Vega, and…" she looked at Charlie.

"Anderton," Pip and Grace had reached them, "and my sisters, Miss Anderton and Miss Grace."

Lilly greeted them with her normal charm and excitement, introducing them to her sour faced friend, Miss Briars.

"I wish you'd let me know that you'd be in London, Senor de la Vega. I'm having a soiree on Friday and I'd very much like you to come," she looked over at the Andertons. "And your friends of course."

"Well, you must introduce me, if you're inviting them, cousin," at the sound of the voice Felipe saw the smile leave Lilly's eyes. A tall elegant looking man had approached from behind smiling and stood beside Lilly taking her arm. "Miss Briars, so good to see you."

The sour faced girl smiled for the first time.

As Lilly introduced them Felipe learned that this was the Marquess of Stallford, her cousin and purported fiancé.

"And this Senor de la Vega you met in California," he smiled at Felipe as he said it. "We nee to talk I can't get anything out of Lilly about the famous Zorro, perhaps you've seen him."

"I'm sure, he can't tell you anything about Zorro," Lilly said quietly.

"Oh well," the marquess said. "I promised your father I'd have you home by five, so goodbye my new friends I'll be delighted to see you on Friday."

As he started to walk away, Lilly went back to Felipe, "Say you'll come, I'd really like to see you again."

When he nodded she smiled and turned back to her companions.

Pip was the first to speak up after they left, "It's strange that she's supposed to marry that man she doesn't seem to like much."

"What's not to like Pip? He's a Marquess!" Grace seemed to be appalled by the thought of anyone disliking such a well placed lord.

"I was thinking that perhaps unlike other women, when she looks at him she sees more than his title, but also the man beneath," and with that Pip started for Aunt Gertrude's.


	6. O'er the Hills

As soon as the strangers had left, Senora Moreno and her bundle abandoned the relative safety of their hiding spot. She put the bundle down and revealed a girl that looked to De Soto to be about eight or nine.

She was sleepy eyes and as soon as the senora had tucked her back in her blankets the girl seemed to fall back to sleep.

"You were expecting them," it wasn't a question. He gestured back to the obviously prepared spot of brush they had just arisen from.

She nodded.

"Those men are following you," this also was no question, but still the woman answered it.

"No, alcalde," she shook her head as she spoke. "They are hunting me."

"You owe me an explanation, senora," at this she nodded in acquiescence and she exhausted as if the weight of the truth was unbearable.

She led him away from the child and began her story in a low voice.

"Two of those men are mercenaries, paid by the other two. Those two are brothers, who want revenge," she wasn't looking at him as she spoke as if not wanting to see his reaction.

"Revenge? For what?" he wasn't about to let her stop now.

"Their brother, I killed him," when she said that she raised her head and looked straight at him as if daring him to disapprove. "He killed my husband, and as soon as I could, I left our daughter, Amelia, with my sister and the other nuns of her convent, I tracked him down and I killed him. Then I returned to the convent. We lived there for a few years, but they found me. They won't be satisfied until Amelia and I are dead."

* * *

Not for the first time, Sean Patrick Fitzgerald, formerly a sergeant and chosen man in His Majesty's 95th Rifle Regiment packed a satchel in preparation to leave his homeland.

Not for the first time, his some time fiancée and lover, Mary, was reminding him all the reasons he shouldn't leave.

"I swear, Sean, if you leave this time, I'll not wait for your return. I'll marry Michael," her voice was firm, but Fitzgerald appeared unaffected. He continued to pack.

"That's a chance I'll have to take, lass," his voice was just as firm.

"I don't understand. The war is over. You said last time you followed after that Englishman would be your last," at the world "Englishman" her voice dripped with the contempt that she felt for Englishman as a group as well as her specific dislike of Wright.

Fitz couldn't explain to her the camaraderie that arose in the Army. Wright wasn't just his commander, he wasn't just his friend, Wright was his brother-in-arms. If he was in danger, Fitz must go. He must go just as surely as the opposite was true. Had been proven true on so many occasions. They were bound together as tightly, no more tightly than if they had been brothers by blood.

If Wright hadn't come to him, this business was serious…and he just couldn't bear the thought that the Major was having fun without him.

"Sean," her voice held the warning that she was truly fed up this time. Fitz was regretful, but he'd never made Mary any promises. He'd told her over and over not to wait for him, but she had. Perhaps she wouldn't wait this time. He'd regret that too, but not nearly as much as he'd regret staying.

He headed for the door.

* * *

After her bald assertion, the senora silently waited for De Soto to take it all in. She hadn't wanted to tell him all she had, still wasn't sure she could trust him. But what choice did she have? She was alone in a foreign land with a daughter to provide for. What could else could she do?

The alcalde was studying her face, as if to ascertain the truth. She didn't know what he saw.

"There's more to this story, I think…"

"Alcalde…"

"Ignacio," he corrected. "If I'm going help you, we may as well dispense with the formalities."

"Catarina," she was surprised by his sudden kindness, after the suspicion that had begun their acquaintance.

"Catarina," he repeated her name as if trying it out. "You can tell me the rest of your story when you're ready. Now we should get some rest, don't you think?"


	7. One Thousand Lashes

Twenty Years Ago

The sun baked the Indian landscape and the British soldiers were baking in their uniforms. Sweat was pouring off of several men. Even the officers looked uncomfortable, but it wasn't just the heat, it was the grim duty to be done.

The men had formed a circle to witness the punishment to be enforced on one of their own. The private in the middle of the men was tied to a convenient cart, stripped to the waist with a strap of leather between his teeth.

The sentence was one thousand lashes or more accurately, though unspoken, death by one thousand lashes. It was very doubtful he'd survive.

The drummer boy who was to employ the whip was ready for the exercise, and glanced over at the sergeant who was trying to catch his eye. The sergeant's look was reminding him that he would be well paid for making the lashes as painful as possible.

Many were looking on in anticipation, some with trepidation, and one man with regret.

Colonel Willioughby had thought that Private Wright had shown promise, but the consequences for striking an officer were clear. He wished he could think of a reason to stop the proceedings, but Sergeant Fretwell's testimony had cinched the boy's fate. Lieutenant Weller had been felled and Fretwell had seen it all. Now Willioughby would lose a promising young private.

He didn't want to watch as the leather began to fall, but he couldn't appear to be weak in front of his men. Wright comported himself well, not making so much as a squeak as the lash fell. The blood had been flying for some time and the glint of bone began to be visible, when the message arrived.

"Stop!" Willioughby was happy to have an excuse. "That's enough!"

Wright was taken away by the doctor and he might die yet, but he'd only taken about a third of his lashes.

The message was only a briefing from the general, but the men didn't need to know he hadn't been directed to save the private's life.

* * *

Ward Wright had always thought he'd never know pain like he'd felt the day twenty years ago when he'd been given the scars he still bore on his back. Later a swipe of a sword meant for his neck, but instead slicing through his thigh had come close. He'd almost lost his leg, but for Fitz he would have. And then of course there had been Badajoz…

The flogging was still the most painful physical ordeal he'd yet to experience, but walking away from Lilly made him prefer to be flogged. He knew he had to, but the pain of it was nigh unbearable. She would be fine. She'd marry a duke or prince and live to perhaps laugh about the foolishness that had been their interlude, but his scars would be as real as the ones on his back.

Pensively, he headed into the dark pub and headed to a table to wait. Lofton would be here soon. Prompt as usual, George Lofton walked through the door not long after.

He walked with a bit of a limp, but still refused the use of a cane. Wright was relieved to see his old friend's smiling face and rose to greet him.

"Well if it isn't old sour faced Major Wright," Lofton's smile was contagious.

"It's good to see you friend, but I've something serious to discuss," he gestured toward the chair opposite him.

"So your message said, something about the siege at Badajoz," Lofton sat down with a thunk and sigh, happy to be sitting down. "I remember that's where you almost died. It took three men to pull you out of the rubble."

"Yes, and counted among the dead were…well, could they have survived?"

* * *

Pip's mother had always been bound and determined to get her daughters each a title, and as Pip aged the woman only became more desperate. At twenty she was dangerously close to being on the shelf. Conversely, on the shelf was somewhere Pip was anxious to be.

She didn't like the pomp and pretend of society. Just look at what it had done to Lillian Montgomery. Pip had watched her with wonder during Pip's first season three years ago. She was beautiful and emulated by every young miss in London. Then Lillian had met Major Wright. She had obviously been deeply in love with the Major. She had flaunted convention with him on more than one occasion. Pip remembered the gossip around on ball specifically where the two had danced three dances and two of those waltzes. And now?

Now, it seemed society's pressures had weighed upon the couple and the marquess's granddaughter would now marry the legitimate, proper and titled, John Rossendale, Marquess of Stallford. This was the kind of marriage Pip's mother wanted for her, but Pip wanted nothing at all to do with that sort of marriage.

She would much rather sit quietly on the shelf, let Grace marry a title. Grace was ready able and willing to marry the first lord who asked her. For perhaps the umpteeth time Pip wondered at nature creating two such opposite sisters with such similar looks.

"Pip," it was Grace herself. "Aren't you ready yet?"

Pip sighed, it was time to go out and smile at society again. Maybe she'd get lucky and get sick from the soup and have to head home. She'd much rather go to the theater with Charlie and his friend.


	8. Hold On

Victoria loved this time of the day, first thing in the morning just before the hustle and bustle began and the pueblo was still asleep. She had come into town for just that reason. She always did her best thinking in the tavern before breakfast, and she had a lot to think about.

In a way she had everything she had wanted a year ago. She really was happy, but there was still much bitter in the sweet. Before she was married, her romance with Zorro had been a dreamlike thing. He was something more than a normal man. She had never truly feared for his life. But then Zorro and Diego had turned out to be the same man, and with that change Zorro lost his superhuman invincibility and inherited all of Diego's mortal fragility. The danger he put himself in on a regular basis became all too real to her.

For the first time she saw Zorro with all the aches, pains and wounds that came with his quest for justice. She saw the soreness from his midnight rides, the scraps and bruises, and worst of all, that gunshot wound. Fortunately it hadn't been deep, but next time…she shuddered to think of it.

He pushed himself as Zorro and Diego more than she had ever known. How many times had he saved her life through biting or even excruciating pain? With this knowledge, suddenly he was more precious than ever to her. For herself, she had no complaints.

He was a loving, thoughtful and gentle husband, even the missing him she could bear. It was what she saw him doing to himself that was so difficult.

"Are you open for breakfast, senora?" the doors of the tavern opened and she saw three figures silhouetted in the doorway, the sun behind.

She walked forward and saw to her amazement, the alcalde holding the hand of a young girl, standing next to a strange woman.

"I'm hungry," the girl said, the urgency evident in each syllable.

"Well, lucky for you I have something ready," Victoria smiled at the little girl.

"Senora de la Vega, this is Senora Moreno and her daughter, Amelia," the woman inclined her head at the mention of her name. "Come on, brat. Let's let the senora get our breakfast." De Soto led the girl to a table and she followed him happily, not bothered at all by the insult.

Victoria watched in amazement, and glanced at Senora Moreno who was looking on with a smile.

"Your alcalde is very kind," she said and Victoria could only respond with a laugh which the other woman seemed to take as an agreement. "Can I help you? With the breakfast I mean?"

Victoria nodded and led her into the kitchen, "Here, you hold the plates, I'll dish out the food," and after a moment, she couldn't stop herself from prying. "What brings you to Los Angeles, senora?"

The woman shrugged, "It was time for a change I suppose. After my husband died, my daughter and I lived with my sister, who is a nun, in her convent. I realized I wanted Amelia to see more of the world I guess."

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss," Victoria's words were sincere and she looked at the widow with concern.

"It's been many years, but thank you," she kept her eyes on the plate she was holding.

"Well, perhaps you will marry again…" Victoria couldn't help thinking of the alcalde when she spoke, but the senora made a sound half laugh half moan.

"I doubt that," she was still refusing to meet Victoria's eyes, looking intently at the plate, though the tavern owner had stopped filling it.

"Why not?" Victoria could not stop herself from asking.

"Some men fill your heart so much, there isn't room for anyone else," the two of them remained silent for so long that it became uncomfortable in the cozy kitchen. "I'm sorry, Senora de la Vega." Victoria heard the tears in the woman's voice as she spoke. It broke her heart a little.

"No, I know exactly what you mean," she reached out to the stranger and squeezed her arm in what she hoped was a heartening way. Senora Moreno looked up at her for the first time.

"Your husband is such a man?"

"Yes," Victoria answered.

The senora reached out and squeezed Victoria's arm in the same way that she had her own and said, "Then hold onto him, hold onto him with both hands, a love like that, a man like that, there's nothing worse than the loss."

* * *

"I hope they hurry…" Amelia had had little else to talk about but her stomach since she woke up that morning. He should been annoyed. He wasn't.

He thought of Senora Moreno, Catarina. In the light of the morning he'd seen the form he'd only felt the night before. She was lean and lithe like a cat and beautiful. Not classically so, like Lilly. That lady had put him in a mind of Venus, but Catarina…she was Diana. A huntress, a warrior goddess.

"Amelia, do you know why you and your mother came here?" he asked.

"She's sad," the girl's tone was matter of fact.

"Sad?" he prodded.

"She misses papa. He's at home. I'm hungry," it was obvious which bit of information was more important to the child.

"At home? I thought he was dead?" he hadn't been able stop from making that statement so baldly.

"He _is_ dead," Amelia seemed to be getting annoyed at the line of questioning. "Mama said at home, everywhere she looks he's there, and maybe he won't be here, or maybe he will, we'll see."

At that, the woman in question entered the room with their breakfast. Amelia fairly jumped up out of her chair with glee. De Soto saw that Catarina was visibly shaken, but wasn't sure how or if to talk to her about it. The three sat and ate for a few moments when he broke the uncomfortable silence.

"You should get a room here in the tavern. I have to go check on my men, but I'll be back," he spoke gently, trying to reassure her.

"I don't know if I like the idea of staying here," she said shaking her head. "It's too easy for them to find us."

"You're safe in my pueblo I promise," he smiled at her as he spoke. "If you're worried I'll send some men over here to watch over you, when I can't. Cat, I'll keep you safe."

She frowned, "What did you call me?"

"'Cat,' I was just shortening your name," he was confused as she seemed to be getting very angry about such a small thing.

In fact she rose from the table as she said in a furious voice, "Don't call me that! No one calls me that!" and she ran from the room in a flurry of movement.

"Are you gonna eat that?" Amelia asked looking at his plate with longing.


	9. La Aguja

Pip had taken her customary spot in the ballroom…against the wall, watching the dancing. She looked over at her sister, Grace, who was smiling and laughing with her friends. Grace turned to look at Pip with a smug smile.

They really were opposites. Grace was at home in a ballroom, or a drawing room surrounded by people. She was in her element in a place like this, in the pomp and pretence of society. Pip only seemed comfortable with her family, Charlie in particular, as he seemed to be the only one who really understood her.

In society, Pip invariably said the wrong thing and landed in some kind of faux pas. Grace always knew what to say. She knew the latest gossip and the newest fashions from Paris, and like, Pip supposed, sisters the world over they tormented each other in the only ways they could. Grace ignored Pip in public and her sister teased her mercilessly with their brother at home.

"I wish you'd make more of an effort, Phillipa," her mother said for perhaps the fifteenth time that evening. "You'll die a spinster if you don't try to be a little more encouraging."

"Yes, mother," it was all Pip ever said to her mother when she started on this track.

"Oh, look, Lord Knowles is coming this way," her mother sounded delighted. "Smile, Phillipa."

The young lord was pleasant enough as Pip remembered, but she had her doubts that he was really coming their way. Then she saw him. He was indeed heading for them. He was dressed in elegant evening attire, black trousers and coat with a dark green waistcoat beneath. He had a pleasant face and smiled when he came upon the ladies.

"Mrs. Anderton, Miss Anderton," he bowed to each in their turn. "How are you this lovely evening?"

"Wonderful, my lord," Pip almost rolled her eyes as her mother blushed as if she were still a debutante. "but anxiously wishing we were dancing, don't we, my dear."

When Pip didn't immediately respond she jabbed her elbow into the girl's ribs.

"Of course, mama," she said. "Very anxious."

"I hope you have room on your dance card for me, Miss Anderton." Lord Knowles's smile was sly.

He'd seen the exchange and Pip's sense of the ridiculous was awoken and she couldn't stop herself from smiling brightly back.

"Yes, I do."

* * *

"I knew you'd like this, Felipe," Charlie's voice was full of the satisfaction of a friend who'd wanted to please. Felipe hadn't liked the theater much.

Or rather hadn't liked Charlie and his London friends' idea of the theater. They had spent the evening remarking loudly on each and everyone they saw, and they weren't the only ones. Felipe could barely hear the actors over the din of gossip. Charlie had apologized as soon as he saw Felipe's discomfort and at intermission the two had left.

"I'd forgotten how loud the gossips are, forgive me," he kept saying. "but tomorrow I know you'll like."

And he did. The hall was large and elegant, rows of tall columns covered in intricate carvings. The walls were covered in beautiful frescos. It put Felipe more in mind of Italy than London, but the best part was the action on the floor.

There were quite a few other young men gathered watching the expert swordsman practice as well, so Felipe didn't feel self conscious about staring.

There was one man in particular who had executed a remise that he thought even Diego would have been impressed to see. Felipe watched the bout with interest and then he recognized the swordsman. It was the Marquess of Stallford, Lilly supposed new fiancé.

* * *

"We were close last night. I know it!" the anger and frustration was evident in the Frenchman's tone, but his brother was composed.

"La Aguja is within our grasp, mon frère. That little partisan is out of places to run," he tried to calm down the hothead. Thomas was always ready to head into danger without a thought. The was the behavior that had led their brother into the clutches of the Spanish guerrilla known as la Aguja, the needle, but he, Etienne, was going to prevail with a cooler head.

There were many in France who would pay a high price to see la Aguja guillotined. The war was over, but her victims still deserved justice.

"She killed our brother in cold blood, how can you be so calm?" Thomas was pacing back and forth impatient for their scouts to return, but Etienne sat quietly. "Have you heard from le connard Anglaise, at least?"

"No, not since we've been in California. We don't need his help to catch her, Thomas."

* * *

"Aw, Mr. Anderton and Senor de la Vega," when the marquess had seen them he had walked over to greet them.

"Good morning, my lord," Charlie answered the man's greeting. There were still more practice bouts going on behind them, and all three men kept one eye on the action.

"I'm glad you're here, after we met the other day I couldn't help but think I've heard the name 'de la Vega' before, I mean besides my cousin's stories. I've been trying to remember and now I think I have." He paused perhaps for effect. "I wonder if you are any relation to Don Diego de la Vega? I believe he is from California. Good parry, Winebarger, old boy!" the last bit was shouted across the room.

Felipe couldn't hide his surprise or stop the nod of his head. He looked over at the elegant man, but the Englishman barely averted his gaze from the fencers. He was watching intently.

"I'm glad. I've heard many stories about him, particularly his ability with the saber, from an old fencing instructor of mine. It always made me curious to meet him," Felipe watched the man for any trace of malice, but couldn't detect any. "Perhaps, after we are married I can convince my cousin to a visit."

"Talking of fencing again, Rossendale…Stallford I mean, blast it's hard to remember," the marquess rolled his eyes at the sound of the voice.

"At your cups this early again, Figgy?"

"Figgy" was a short man who did indeed look like he had already dabbled in drink. Though the twelve o'clock chime had yet to ring, he could barely keep his feet. "Maybe, don't you talk about anything, besides fencing?"

"I don't when I'm here, excuse me," he said to the two young men and led the bosky "Figgy" away.

"Lord Figburt, he's one of Stallford's hangers on, though no one knows why he lets him hang about," Charlie informed his friend, but Felipe was wondering how far Lord Stallford's interest in the de la Vegas and Zorro extended.

* * *

Catarina knew she'd overacted. How could the alcalde have known that "Cat" was the name_ he_ had always called her? Or that she was shaken by her conversation with the tavern's proprietress and also by the paper in her pocket that had led her from a convent in the Spanish countryside to California?

She looked at the paper crumpled and worn and read it for perhaps the hundredth time.

_I saw your man alive in California._

_I hope you find him before a bullet does._


	10. The Rusted Pail

The farmhouse was small, but cozy and familiar. Diego had checked on the young mother regularly since her husband had left on important family business. Ricardo's father lay dying in Mexico City, so he'd left his young wife, Theresa, and their infant daughter in the house alone. But not before asking the de la Vegas to watch over his loved ones.

Diego took the responsibility seriously checking in once a day to make sure the family was well. Victoria usually came with him, but this morning she hadn't been anywhere to be found. He rode toward the farmhouse. Theresa was hanging her wash out and singing to the baby in a basket nearby.

"Don Diego," she said when she saw him. "Buenos dias!"

"Good morning, Theresa," he said. "How is the little one?" He wasn't staying long and didn't bother to dismount, and she didn't stop hanging her wash. They had settled into a routine long ago.

"She's blooming today," Theresa answered, and the baby giggled as if in agreement. "And so was your wife, earlier this morning."

"She was here?" he asked and started to look toward the pueblo as if he could see her.

"Yes, Don Diego, hours ago" Theresa's smile was sly. "I guess you slept in?"

Diego frowned, "Yes, I guess I did. Have a lovely day, Senora." After tipping his head in her direction he headed toward the pueblo.

Victoria was still angry. He should probably leave her be for now, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to make things right between them. He headed for the tavern.

Senora Moreno had settled herself and her daughter in the room that Victoria had shown them. The girl was especially quiet and well behaved. Victoria mused it must be being raised in a convent that had caused it. Well, that and the girl's mother was veritably military in her fastidiousness. She was perhaps the most exacting woman Victoria had ever met.

She didn't know what to make of the woman. When she'd spoken of her late husband she seemed broken and delicate, but at times there was an iron will about her that almost scared Victoria.

Business began to trickle in for the day and Victoria could at last enjoy the mindlessness that could only come with day to day work. It should have annoyed her, but this calmed her. It was her bit of familiarity in a life that was otherwise changing every day. And then Diego walked in her door.

It was a quiet evening for the Anderton family. There was no theater or soiree to attend. All the balls and card parties were later in the week. Finally, Pip could breathe again.

Grace sat on "her" settee with her fashion magazines periodically sighing that "there was nothing to DO," as her mother clucked in agreement.

Mr. Anderton was describing his latest specimen for his oldest daughter to take down for his report to his amateur naturalist club that met each month and Charlie and Felipe played cards in the corner.

Pip was content, well truthfully she'd rather be playing cards with her brother and his friend, but she'd much rather be taking notes for her father than dancing with some stuffy lord.

Pip's mother seemed to have second sight, for she took just that moment to say, "Mr. Anderton, Lord Knowles was quite taken with our young Phillipa the other night." She smiled at her daughter in congratulation.

Pip rolled her eyes, and looked toward her brother, but somehow met his friend's eyes instead. When she realized her mistake she looked down at her notes.

Her father only grunted, and continued to discuss his theory on the locomotion of the fossil he had been studying.

Pip's mother frowned and tried again, "They say this year he's determined to find a bride."

"Who says?" Charlie asked.

"Everyone does," was the angry reply.

Charlie chuckled, and went back to his cards. His interest only seemed to extend insofar as he could anger his mother. He had and now that game was over.

"And I think Phillipa…" his mother tried to continue.

"What? Someone marry my Pip?" Mr. Anderton looked confused like he'd never thought of the idea. He looked at his daughter. "You aren't ready to get married my girl, are you?"

"Well, not yet, Papa, but maybe soon," she said.

He sat back like he'd received some surprising news, "Well, I'll think about it."

"Not anytime soon!" Pip answered anxiously, with the look on her father's face he'd have the whole thing decided and her engagement arranged by the end of the week. He was like that. He'd set himself a task and finish it, check it off his list, but she wasn't ready for that.

"Alright," he said. He rose and kissed his daughter on the top of the head. "Let me know when you want me to think about it."

And just like that he went back to seat and continued his observations. Pip smiled. He was such a simple man, she loved that about him, but she heard her mother harrumph.

London was the same horrible city it had been the last time Fitz had been there. He could barely breathe the heavy air and every shadow was a potential danger. He'd rather be in the thick of battle than walking these wretched streets again. At least on a battlefield it was clear who one's enemy was.

He'd reached the city sometime in the afternoon, seen Claire to her door, and then the awkward conversation with Lady Lilly.

She looked at him like she was drowning and he was a floating log. He just shook his head to indicate that he hadn't seen him, and when her face fell he could have hit his old friend.

Indeed, he fully intended to as soon as he found the bastard. He was almost certain where he'd be, the place where he'd taken Fitz before. Wright's home and his torment, and searching in the night, Fitz saw him walking out of the pub.

Fitzgerald wouldn't approach him yet, he'd promised Lady Lilly.

"Just bring me to him, I beg you. If only I could talk to him, he'd come back to me, I know it!"

How could he ignore her plea, and spook the quarry? So he watched his friend head out into the night and followed to discover his hiding place.


	11. Ambitions

Pumphrey House was the fourth townhouse on the street. Glittering light flickered from the hundreds of gaslights lit to illuminate it for the soiree that Friday night. Pip looked out the carriage window to the opulent façade. Their carriage was at a standstill within the long line of conveyances letting guests out at the door. This seemed almost like a visit to court rather than a party to her. At least compared to the gatherings she was used to. The Montgomerys mixed in a much higher society than the Andertons. This was where the upper echelons, the pinks and nonpareils of the _Ton_ mixed and looked down on bookish girls like Pip, but Charlie's friend, Felipe, knew them.

"Might as well get out and walk," Charlie said with his usual good humor.

Pip looked over at her brother and his friend, but the latter young man's eyes were fixed on the spectacle of the house. Apparently he was as unused to such lavish surroundings as she. He seemed to know she was looking at him and turned to meet her gaze.

She still didn't know what to make of him. There was something about him that unsettled her. Not unpleasantly so, just that she had the strangest notion that no matter how long she was acquainted with him she would never truly know him. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that, so she turned back to the window. Thinking about the night ahead she squared her shoulders and prepared herself for the undoubtedly boring evening ahead.

She dreamed of a cozy cottage in the country, far away from the bustle and activity of town. She imagined herself enjoying a quiet evening. It was how she survived these horrible functions, anticipating her future without them. She would have that, and all she had to do was complete the night unscathed. It was a daunting task.

"Yes," she said. "Let's get out and walk."

* * *

Lilly would be appalled to see the condition of the East end street. No one had bothered to light the lamps and the dark streets harbored the ladies of the evening she'd only heard about, but never seen. If she'd heard the wailing of hungry children and unmistakable sounds of violence, she would have been terrified and disgusted. If she heard or had looked out from under the cloak she wore, she didn't give any indication

Fitz held tight to her hand. He hated bringing her here. He hated the thought of her seeing these things. He knew how much Wright would have hated the idea of her seeing the streets he had grown up on, but even for himself he hated the idea of her innocence coming in such close contact with the filth of the city. But Wright was here, had come back here as he always did, as Fitz had known he would. Fitz resolved again to punch his friend squarely in the jaw.

* * *

The Marquess of Stallford entered the townhouse with his favorite girl on his arm. He smiled with pride as he entered the packed vestibule, and his companion smiled as well. She was obviously happy to be in his company.

"Which one is she, John?" she whispered quiet loudly. Her hearing had been going since she turned seventy.

"I'll let you know, my dear," he said. He spoke even more loudly than she, not caring who overheard or what they thought.

When Georgina Blackburn married John Rossendale, she was disowned by her illustrious family because he had the audacity to be involved in trade and possibly worse…was a Catholic. Georgie as she preferred to be called, turned her back on her family and all she knew including her religion for her friend, her lover, and her husband, John Rossendale. Her grandson, also named John Rossendale, always loved to hear her tell the story, but really he loved all her stories.

Stories of her failed London seasons and her happy married years, of the devastation and loss of losing her husband and only son on the same day in that fatal carriage ride, and best of all stories about him, her "darling third John" as she called him. The two of them had been outcasts from society all of his life. They had remained unacknowledged by the richer titled side of their family. Her side.

Though he had been heir presumptive for her cousin's title few people dared chance the Marquess' displeasure by befriending the otherwise disenfranchised pair. Most of the _beau mode_ seemed to think the old man had something up his sleeve to thwart his successor. And so he had.

He hadn't been able to keep from leaving his title and entailed property anywhere but to the nearest male relative, but had left all his capital and various not otherwise encumbered estates to the Golden Girl of the _Ton_ and his granddaughter, Lillian Montgomery.

But Rossendale was determined to win in the end, and this was the beginning. Georgina Blackburn was triumphantly returning to her rightful place, and her grandson was determined to secure it. It was certainly a wonderful beginning and with it part of his life's ambitions were going to be filled. The other part would come later. And Lady Lillian Pumphrey was his ticket to both.

* * *

Note: I find myself in the awkward position of apologizing for a long absence yet again, but for once it wasn't work. I had a family crisis of such proportions that could not write or post anything in all this time. Everything is back on track again and I hope to be updating at least once a week going forward, however Mother's day is coming and I get a little busy at work so please have patience with me. Thank you for your continued support.


	12. Ah, Leave Me Not

When Diego entered the tavern, Victoria tried to ignore him. She didn't want to. She wanted to turn back the clock and have an easy conversation with him just like she used to before she knew of his double life. She wanted things to be simple like before they shared this secret that was somehow wonderful and terrifying at the same time. But there was no going back.

He was watching her as she filled people's cups and carried trays to the kitchen. Not with the almost absentminded smile he used to, but with a worried frown. That angered her more than anything. _He_ was worried. He knew nothing about the feeling. When she reached the kitchen quietly fuming, she wanted to throw the plate she was carrying to the floor, so she did.

"Whatever that plate did I hope it deserved that," Diego said as he slipped into the kitchen. He moved so stealthily, why had she never noticed before? She wished she hadn't thrown the plate yet, because she wanted to throw it at him. She knew he could see it in her face, when he noticeably blanched. She turned away from him and reached for the broom.

"Victoria," he said. He reached out for her, but she slipped out of his reach.

"I don't want to talk to you," she tried to keep from raising her voice.

"I know, but we need to talk," he was pleading with her and she couldn't ignore the very real anguish in his voice. She turned around.

* * *

The soiree was a dreadful crush, which was no surprise to Pip. That Lady Lilly was nowhere to be seen was. In fact the entire room spoke of little else.

The noblewoman's father made some flimsy excuse about her health and while no one called him a liar to his face, it was easy to note the opinion of the crowd. And to note the opinion of the lady's none too pleased soon to be fiancé. Unfortunately for Pip, no gossip no matter how juicy could keep her mother from matchmaking.

"I don't see Lord Knowles, but never fear my dear. He's bound to be here somewhere," she said as she patted her oldest daughter's hand in consolation. It irritated Pip, mostly because she was looking for him.

"Yes, Pip," he brother said. "I'm sure Knowles or someone equally as horrible is in attendance."

"Oh, hush," their mother said. Her frown was almost imperceptible under her smile, but someone who knew her could see it. She had a talent for society that she shared with her son and one of her daughters, and she scanned the room unnoticed by any who looked her way. Pip saw it, but so did Charlie. It was clear to the both of them that their mother had set her heart and mind on a match between Pip and Lord Knowles. And one more, Felipe saw it too.

* * *

The Rusted Pail was a squalid and forbidding place in the East end of London. It was a part of the city that Lilly had always known existed, but she had never understood the poverty that existed here. She had known that Wright had grown up in the poorest part of London, but until now had no practical knowledge of what that entailed. Looking at the rotting board that served as the pub, she realized she still had no working knowledge of the truth of the matter.

"God save Ireland, keep your head down," Fitz said. "If any of these men take a fancy to you, I'll have to kill 'em and I don't like the idea of being deported to Australia."

She ducked her head and reached up to the hood of her cloak to pull it down. He was right. Since the majority of the females in the area were members of the oldest profession, it wouldn't be farfetched for her to be taken for one.

They stepped into the crowded common room of the pub. It reeked of stale ale, stale humanity, and more she couldn't identify. She heard Fitz ask for a room for the night, and before she knew it they were headed upstairs. She was closer to Wright than she had been in months. Her heart was pounding and she found she had to concentrate on remembering to breathe.

She had practiced this. Imagining what she would say, and how he would react. He would take her in his arms and all the months of separation would melt away and he would say…

"Lilly! Bloody hell, what are _you_ doing here?" well not that…

But that's what he did say when he saw her, his eyes boring into hers. They were more accusing than anything else. Never had she prepared herself for the thought that he'd be anything but happy to see her.

* * *

"We need to talk," Diego repeated. She knew it was true. She knew that the only way to resolve their difficulties was to talk them out, but how could she say what she wanted to? How could she say that she thought they'd moved too fast? She needed time to catch her breath. She was terrified of losing him and of having him all at once. It was a feeling she didn't understand. How could she tell him that and not break his heart?

"I know, but now?" she gestured around the kitchen to imply she was too busy for serious discussion. She needed time to figure out how to say it tactfully.

"Yes," he said. "I think we've put this off far too long."

He was right again. It was a terrible habit of his. She concentrated on sweeping up the remnants of the plate she'd destroyed. She was hoping if she didn't look at him her heart wouldn't break. Not again, she just couldn't take that.

"Victoria," he spoke in that tone that she could resist less and less as time went by. She turned back to him. He was so earnest, but how could he understand? "Tell me what's troubling you."

"So much has changed," she began in a quiet halting tone, but gained volume and momentum as she continued. "I thought that that was what I wanted. I dreamt of being with you for so long and I didn't even know it. But the reality is too much sometimes…with your disappearances and my worries. It's more than that though. My life has changed so drastically and I need some time to think about it. I just wish sometimes that life could go back to how it was."

This time it was he who turned from her. He began pacing the kitchen in that way she'd often observed Zorro do. He continued silently and it seemed like hours to her. Then he looked at her abruptly and searching her face said, "Do you regret marrying me?"

"No!" she said quickly. She had been trying to reassure him, but he didn't seem convinced. "I just need some time away from this."

"You've thought this through," it was a statement not a question, but she still answered him.

"Yes. I've a letter from Lord Pumphrey. He's concerned for his daughter and asked if we would visit. I replied that I would come and he sent a man to California to come fetch me."

"You're leaving me?" he said. His voice was flat and drained of feeling.

"Only for a short time…" she wished she could unspeak the words. Now that she saw his face she wanted to take it all back. She knew that his heart would be broken, but now it was too late. The damage was done.

"When?" he asked. She wanted the floor to swallow her up.

"Two days from now…" and before she was finished speaking the word he was out of the kitchen…out of the tavern…out of her life, and she was miserable.


	13. Rescued

It was oppressively hot in the ballroom, and the crush was entirely unpleasant. Lord Knowles wasn't in attendance, which seemed odd to Pip. It almost devastated her mother, but she was too well-mannered to show it. Despite the grandeur of the setting, the night progressed much like any other party. Pip was tired, overheated and wanted nothing more than to go home. After her dance with Mr. Peabody, he made a move to take her back to her doting mother, but she didn't want to go back. Her mother would make her dance until her toes bled and she fainted from exhaustion. She needed a rest.

"Oh, Mr. Peabody," she said. "I'm simply parched. Could I trouble you to bring me some punch before we return?"

"Of course, wait right here," he said and then he eagerly headed to the punch bowl.

As soon as he was out of sight she all but ran to the nearby terrace. The night air hit her. It was a cool blessing on her face when she first stepped out. She almost wept in relief. However, no sooner had she made it to the terrace than a pair of lovers swept through the doors. Yearning to be alone, she took the stairs that led off the terrace and into the garden.

It was a beautiful maze of shrubs and flowering plants. She walked quickly until she found a small bench in a secluded corner of the garden, plopped down and gave a decidedly unladylike grunt. It felt as if she had been dancing on daggers. She looked down at her feet and it was as she thought; her slippers were almost certainly ruined. Brand new shoes worn and seems split from one nights dancing. She dreamed of her cottage again and of sitting quietly by the fire with a well-loved book. So lost in her dream, she didn't hear anyone approach.

"What have we here?" said a voice.

She looked up startled. Two men, foxed, she was certain as she could smell the drink from her seat, eyed her with disturbing interest. It was dark in the garden. It hadn't been lit for the party. No one was supposed to be out here, so she couldn't make out the men's features.

"Not enjoying the party, little chit?" it was the same voice. She rose from her seat on the bench and turned to run farther into the garden, but despite their level of inebriation the two men were quick.

One of them grabbed her arm and turned her about. He crushed her to him and the smell of spirits was so strong she was sure she would be sick. He pulled her closer and she knew he meant to kiss her. She reacted quickly and kicked him as hard as she could in the shin. Unfortunately with her soft dancing slippers she probably hurt her foot worse than she hurt him. However, he let go of her and flinched, and instead of kissing her, he cuffed her across the mouth. It stunned rather than injured her and she drew her hand against her face were his open palm had hit her. She slapped him back. Her palm was stinging, and that apparently hurt him worse than her kick, as he staggered back and almost fell onto the bench.

"Come on, Henry," his friend chided. "You aren't going to let her get away with that!"

Her attacker shook his head with a menace she could feel, even without seeing his face. He raised his fist for a more serious blow. She closed her eyes and tensed up, too frightened to run, but the blow never came.

She heard the sounds of a struggle, and when she opened her eyes a third figure was moving on her attackers with a speed and efficiency that surprised and awed her. She strained her eyes in the dark to ascertain the identity of her savior, but it was no use. It was far too dark.

He made short work of the two men. They proved to be cowards, who ran as soon as they were challenged by someone so obviously stronger than them. Her preserver turned towards her and she was almost frightened of him, almost thought he would now claim what he had been protecting as his own prize. However, he didn't move in her direction. He just stood there silently, and she had the oddest notion that though she couldn't make out a single feature of his face, that he saw her perfectly.

After what seemed like hours past he spoke, "Are you alright?" His voice was harsh and accented and he spoke very slowly and deliberately.

Pip nodded and then realized he might not see it so she said, "Yes."

He hadn't made a move toward her, but somehow he was closer. She realized that she was walking toward him. She felt as if she was being drawn toward him. She was like a fish on a line, though she wasn't struggling.

"Who are you?" she whispered. Her eyes were working feverishly in the blackness to recognize him.

"No one," he said, and he turned to walk away.

"Wait," she said. She rushed toward him and when he turned back abruptly she found herself directly in front of him. "I need to thank you."

She'd only meant to kiss his cheek, but it was dark and he must have jerked his head in surprise, because before she knew what was happening, her mouth was on his.

It was a quick, chaste, closed mouth kiss and she was quite satisfied with it. It was her first kiss after all and she didn't even know who the man was, but when she drew back he whispered what seemed to be a curse, though she didn't recognize it. Then he pulled her close up against him and kissed her again.

She should have been frightened by the urgency in his kiss, or the way he coaxed her own mouth open with his finger and thumb and angled her body to fit more closely against his own. She should have kicked his shin and slapped him like the man before. She really should have, and she would as soon as her head stopped swimming and her heart stopped beating so fast. As soon as she stopped clinging to him and kissing him back she'd give him a terrible slap. But she never got the chance.

"Pip! Are you down here?" it was Charlie and before she knew it, her rescuer was gone.

* * *

Not for the first time in the past few nights, Diego paced before the fireplace. Alejandro might have laughed at the reversal in the couple's roles if Diego wasn't so upset.

It really was laughable. Diego was really getting a taste of the worry and turmoil that Victoria faced every day and the boy didn't even see it. No, not boy. His son was not a boy anymore. Even if every time he looked at him he saw the little one that had begged to be picked up, or the boy who stubbornly refused to eat his greens, or the teenager who couldn't wait for the adventure of school in Spain. The memories made him smile fondly at the man who was frowning at him.

"How can you be so calm?" he said. His brows almost touched each other in his frustration and resumed pacing. "It has been a day and half since I've seen her," he turned accusingly at his father. "Because you said I should give her distance and time, and she'd come back. Well she hasn't come back!"

"Diego, you're raising your voice!" Alejandro spoke with more surprise than disapproval. His all too calm and confident son was rarely so impassioned. There were times when his father almost feared he didn't possess the emotion. That was before he'd realized his son's secret.

"What do I do?" Diego asked frantically. Alejandro smiled again. "What?"

"I can't remember the last time you asked me for advice," he said. It really was too strange, his cautious son asking him what to do. "You're so much like your mother most of the time. Cautious almost to a fault. It's nice to see I'm in there too."

That seemed to surprise Diego, "Father, there's something we need to…" His eyes went to the doorway as he stopped speaking. Alejandro looked up and saw what captured his son's attention. Victoria was there.

The married couple just silently stared at each other as if they'd been parted for months instead of little more than a day. He left the room wanting to give them privacy and certain he wouldn't be missed.


	14. Such a Little Thing

When Charlie led Pip back into the ballroom, she was no worse for wear. At least not that anyone could see. In fact she was a bit giddy. She looked around the ballroom and examined every man she saw, trying to figure out who her rescuer was. That's when she saw Lord Knowles. He smiled at her, headed her way, and asked her to dance. She didn't know what she said, but she must have accepted because he led her to the floor.

She looked up into his smiling face. Could it be he?

* * *

He was here. Claire glanced around the plant she was standing behind and watched him. He was dancing with a young woman Claire didn't recognize. She blushed prettily when he spoke to her, and showed every sign of a girl falling in love. She had to be warned, but he mustn't see Claire.

Lilly had promised her the man would never be invited to her home, but Lilly wasn't here. Claire knew she might never return. They had prepared for that, but not this. He was supposed to be out of the country. In point of fact he'd been off on the continent the last few years at least. Lilly had sworn that Claire would never be in the same house with him again. She was so certain he'd never return to England.

Claire ducked behind the plant as the dancing couple came near. The dance was almost over and she didn't want to be seen.

She wanted to run upstairs and hide under her bed to escape him as she had always done. She wanted to run to Lilly or Fitzgerald and beg for their help. She was ready to run out into the street and out of London as fast as her feet would carry her.

Instead she slipped into a nearby hallway and headed to the first room she knew wouldn't be occupied, Lilly's personal study. She closed the door behind her and took big gulps of air trying to stop her racing heart. With one hand on Lilly's desk and one against her heart she leaned forward and started to count to calm herself down. It always worked before, but when she heard the click from the latch her head shot up and so did her heart rate. He had followed her.

"Knowles," she rasped.

"I'm touched you recognized me, Claire," he said nonchalantly closing the door behind him and locking it.

She looked about widely for another way out, but she knew there wasn't. When she turned back toward him, he was leaning against the door with his arms crossed in front of him as if he had all the time in the world and was smiling his malevolent smile. One she knew very well.

"You've really done well for yourself," he gestured around the room. "One wouldn't think a few short years ago you were a nobody in my mother's house. And now…you're a valued member of the Montgomery household and a special friend of Lady Lillian Pumphrey. Coincidently not long after that self-same woman snubbed me and more. She blackened my name all across London. Nothing exact, nothing to be traced back, but enough that mamas in the know kept me away from their daughters and most respectable men wouldn't speak to me." His face grew hard and cold.

She knew that face as well. She knew how rage rose up in him slowly until he released it. It was always a cold calculated rage almost totally controlled. That was the horror of it. He was in control and he meant every blow and every indignity.

"She even turned my mother against me. My mother has told me I must settle down and marry or she'll cut my purse strings. But it wasn't really Lady Lilly was it, Claire?" he said as he approached her. "It was you, all you."

When he reached her he grabbed her arm and bent it back till she thought it would snap. Tears welled up in her eyes as he glared down at her coldly and cruelly.

When he spoke his face was mere inches from hers, "I'll have my revenge on you, if I had more time, I'd have it tonight, but because of you I have very few choices among the young belles and have to settle for a common little bluestocking. As soon as I've secured her, I'm coming back for you, my darling, Claire, because you're mine."

"Never," Claire whispered. She realized it was the first time she'd truly defied him. He only laughed and pushed her back by one arm, bruising it badly, and without letting go he struck her hard with the back of his hand. When he finally released her she fell to the floor and clutched her face.

"You're mine, Claire Reed, always have been always will be," and with those ominous words he unlocked the door and left her.

She felt sticky wet blood flowing from her check where his ring had cut her and the stinging in her arm where he'd twisted it. She realized she had to do more than warn his present victim. If she dissuaded her he'd only choose another and be after Claire more viciously besides. No, she had to much more.

She had to make sure he never hurt another woman again.

* * *

Felipe didn't join the dancing. He watched the happy people twirl about the floor and kick up their heels. Charlie smiled and charmed young ladies and Grace was commanding a small court of followers, but Felipe felt his eyes return to Pip. She was smiling and was gaining an interesting following all her own. There was a glow that followed her that reminded him of someone else, though the two of them were so different.

It was happening again. He recognized the foolish feeling even though it was more powerful than his infatuation with Lilly. He was falling for someone who was entirely out of his reach. He'd felt his attraction for Charlie's oldest sister the first time he'd seen her, but was sure he could overcome it.

If he noticed it early on and kept out of her company he had been sure that the feeling would pass. After all, how could he court a girl when he couldn't even talk? He knew his family didn't think less of him for the deficiency. How many times had Diego been encouraging when other people would have told him to forget his dreams? But Felipe still felt it. That coupled with the fact that though he knew he had been adopted by the de la Vegas, and was in fact a treasured and loved member of the family, he was still completely dependent on their goodwill and generosity for his living. He had nothing outside of himself to recommend him, and he knew that the Andertons didn't have much between them. They would want a wealthy suitor for their daughter. Wealthy he wasn't.

And Pip, he barely knew her, but he felt drawn to her. She was clever and witty. She had that openhearted kind nature that had endeared Charlie to him, but without the mindless loquaciousness.

But he could have tried to forget that. No, he would have done, if she hadn't kissed him in the garden.


	15. The Past, The Present

Wright looked out his window over the London streets. The moon shone bright over the tall buildings and through the layer of smoke that always seemed to hover over the city. He wasn't really registering what he was seeing. His mind was on the sleeping form on his bed and what he soon must do.

He glanced at her red gold curls tangled over his pillow and listened to the even rhythm of her breathing. Lilly. Her face and form were so dear to him. He could hear the sound of her laugh and trace the curve of her smile each time he closed his eyes. He had to leave her again. She shouldn't have come to him. She should never have to see the filth of the East End. He should beat Fitz for bringing her. He should have shut the door in her face. He should have had the will to deny her, but the more he knew her the more clear it became that she was the one person he could deny nothing.

He'd stood in defiance of general and monarch alike. In his first battle he'd barely flinched at the approaching enemy. His nearly endless training had kicked in automatically. He'd fired and reloaded like an automaton, and there wasn't time for fear to enter his heart or mind. But there was no training for this. For her.

He returned to his bed no longer able to keep himself from touching her. When the sun returned, he'd leave. He'd honor his vow. He'd board a ship and return to California where he now knew his past to be waiting for him. Hehh While the moon shone, he'd indulge his heart. Lilly stirred as he leaned down over her. She smiled.

"Ward," she whispered. "I've missed you. I love you. Don't leave me again."

She kissed him, clinging desperately to him with a passion that he returned. For in the morning he must honor vows made to another woman. His inquires had born fruit. Years after the fire and siege at Badajoz, Catarina Moreno and his then unborn child still lived.

* * *

Fifteen years before

Her sister whimpered and she was beginning to think that she'd have no choice but to gag her. They both heard the clank of the soldiers boot coming close to their hiding place. Catarina held her knife at the ready. If these Frenchman thought the two girls would be easy pickings they'd be in for a shock. After the horrors she and her sister had endured at French soldiers hands when they'd invaded their Portuguese home, when they'd killed their parents and used the girls for their own amusements, Catarina had vowed she'd never endure the touch of a Frenchman again. She'd sooner slit her own throat.

Josefina whimper grew louder and the younger sister had to weigh whether or not she'd rather slit the elder's throat. She looked angrily at Josefina putting her first finger to her lips, but the more timid girl only started to cry. The boots came closer to the cupboard they were secreted in. She had no choice. Despite her recent errant thought, she couldn't let them get Josefina. Josefina would never survive another such encounter.

She burst from the cupboard, brandishing her blade, and she would have had him, but for the other one she hadn't accounted for.

The one man grabbed her from behind, holding her armed hand and squeezing until she dropped her knife. She smelled stale piss and spirits on him, and wanted to vomit. He said something to his companion in French which seemed to amuse them both and she used the moment to stomp as hard as she could on his instep and hit him squarely in the face with the back of her head.

The man stumbled and groaned clutching at his face, blood spurting from his now broken nose. The second man came straight for her and he was too quick for her. He held her arms and forced her down. The other man was cursing and coming toward her as well. She knew what was coming; she wasn't strong enough to fight them off. She waited for the inevitable, still struggling though halfway resigned, but the pain never came.

She opened her eyes as the man was whisked off of her by an avenging angel. She though he must be Gabriel, himself, sent from heaven as an answer to her unspoken prayers.

He punched the man in his grip and dropped him to the floor with an ease that mesmerized her. The man with the broken nose picked up her knife and her angel looked at him with an expression that seemed to say, "Please come at me with that knife, I want you to."

And before the man reached him he'd somehow grabbed his wrist and flipped him to the ground and then kicked him with a satisfied grin on his face. With the two men groaning on the ground, he went over to her and held his hand out to help her to her feet.

She suddenly found herself looking into a beautiful pair of emerald eyes. She was never the same.

* * *

Diego turned away from Victoria as soon as his father left the room. He was suddenly loathe to have this conversation.

"Diego, I still need this time away, but I need you to understand. I don't want to part on difficult terms," she spoke softly and he could hear her footsteps as she approached him. He could feel her warmth behind him and the soft pressure of her hand on his back. He knew he wouldn't be able to be angry with her anymore, or maybe that he never had been to begin with.


	16. The Locked Tower

He hadn't been able to sleep. The house was quiet and his restlessness made it suffocating. Felipe was outside walking the streets of London before he even realized that it was his intent. In the almost silence of the early morning, he could hear the rhythm of his own footsteps on the sidewalk. He liked the sound. He also liked the look of the empty street. During the daylight hours, the bustle and din of the city seemed never to end. It was like a different world, this early morning street. It was awash with strange sounds, sights and feelings. Then it started snowing.

He wasn't a stranger to the phenomenon. It snowed on the mountains near Los Angeles. However, being out in the twilight hour, before the sun fully breached the horizon, snow seemed magical.

He had come full circle. Back again at the back of the Anderton home, he hopped the garden gate. He didn't see her at first.

She didn't see him either, but when he noticed her he couldn't help but catch his breath.

Pip knew she was a mess, but she loved the sunrise. She couldn't bear to look away from the morning star. Her braid was coming loose and hung limply over her right shoulder and her crossed arms. She should be wearing more than just her thin dressing gown and the first pair of boots she'd been able to find, but she hadn't been able to get to sleep. When she saw it began to snow, she hadn't been able to keep her restless feet inside. It was so beautiful outside, but then she started to feel the cold and wet in her boots.

She really hated the cold and she did have a warm fire waiting for her in the library. She raised her face to the sun for one more moment before going back in. And that expression of pure enjoyment on her face as the sunlight kissed her windblown cheeks was what had, unbeknownst to her, caught Felipe attention so completely.

The moment couldn't last forever, but when she saw him she didn't gasp or jump. She wasn't startled in the least. Somehow it seemed inevitable that she should share this moment with him.

"Good morning! Come in from the cold," she said unable to stop from smiling. She didn't know if he would follow her in but she didn't look back to see. Heading thru the kitchen, she went up the stairs to her waiting library fire.

Now that she was in the warmth of the house she started to feel how cold she had been. She couldn't wait to curl up in her favorite chair. When she reached her destination, after discarding her boots, she did just that. With her bare feet tucked under her body, she was starting to warm up. Absently she picked up the fossil on the table by her chair. The ancient sea reptile had prompted her early morning excursion. She had been wondering about the sunrises and snowfalls it had witnessed.

When she looked up, she saw that her brother's friend had indeed followed her as far as the library.

Felipe wasn't sure why he'd followed her. He only knew he'd felt drawn to and to sit in the chair across from her. She was holding a rock of some kind in her hands and almost from a distance she began talking about it.

* * *

Rossendale had been angry earlier in the evening. He had been furious. Anything that impeded his plans bothered him. He'd played the game anyway. Smiled at the right people, accepted peoples wishes for his so-called fiancée's health. He danced with the right girls and made the proper conversation. As the night went on he felt the seething rage shift to its rightful direction.

It fed his determination. Now, in the early morning, he sat in his study, surrounded by his trophies and past achievements and considered his next move. Lillian Montgomery was just a doll-like creature of society. She was a chess piece in this game. He had been so sure he could predict what move she'd make next. Apparently, she was a little more complex than he had first anticipated.

* * *

Lilly knew he was gone before she opened her eyes. She could feel the emptiness in the bed where he had slept beside her. She didn't want to open her eyes and see him gone. Had it been a dream? Everything they'd shared, from the first? All the things she'd felt one-sided? No, that was impossible! She remembered the words he'd spoken just the night before.

Late in the night when they'd held each other close she'd found herself talking absurdly, babbling almost…

"It's just like the old fairy story. You know, the one about the soldier locked in a tower," she started. She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her cheek before she heard it.

"What? I thought the princess was the one locked in the tower…and shouldn't there be a prince?"

"Nope," she shook her head as she spoke. She raised her head up so she could look at the shadow of his face in the dark. She tried to make out his eyes as she rested her chin on her hands folded and resting on his chest, and yawned. She was fighting sleep with everything in her. "This is a story about a soldier locked in a tower, saved by a princess, who happened to find him in the wilderness. Out of all the people who could have found him, the princess who did was the only person who could break the spell keeping the tower locked."

As she told the story, he didn't stop laughing.

"You're ridiculous," he said with affection in his voice.

"It's a great story, you know," she said sleepily and closed her eyes.

"I know," he said softly. She started to feel sleep take her and almost as if he didn't want her to hear him he whispered, "The first time I was sure I saw a princess, she was in a carriage that rolled by me on the street. I saw the flash of her golden hair and I was mesmerized. I didn't even notice the sh—filth that that the wheels had splashed all over me. When I asked someone who it was, they said what did it matter? Her type wasn't for me."

"So, you wanted to prove them wrong?" she whispered sleepily.

"At the time I did, but I want you to know, that's not what this is. What you are. This isn't about seducing society's princess, or thumbing my nose at everyone who said I wouldn't amount to anything. I already did that with Boney's Eagle. I'm not trying to prove anything anymore."

His voice seemed distant now as she drifted away.

"It isn't who you're parents are or what you represent. It's you, Lilly. Your spirit and how I feel when I'm with you. For the first time someone sees me. When you look at me you aren't seeing what I can do for you. You aren't calculating what you can get out of me. You see the man underneath. You aren't looking for a hero to save you. Bloody hell, you want to save me. You think I'm a man worth saving."

"I want to save you, Ward," she whispered and as she finally gave in to Morpheus, she was sure she heard him say, "I wish you could."


	17. Drastic Measures?

He was another damn hero. At least that was all the information De Soto had been able to glean about the late husband of Senora Moreno. A hero and it seemed according to the man's daughter a veritable "demon…(her exact turn of phrase)…demon" on the battlefield who could kill a Frenchman with a mere look. The daughter supplied all the information, as her mother was always dumb on the subject, despite his proddings. However, Amelia, with little more than a word, warmed to the subject. Her papa was a magician, a demon, a saint, all rolled into one enigma of a hero. Madre de Dios and all saints preserve him from damn heroes. However, he was beginning to this to beat the heroes, he must join them.

* * *

Damn the Frogs! Damn the hot California sun! Damn everyone and everything. He was miserable. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be a king among men by now, in this "savage" place. He would have been but for an upstart bastard. He'd forced him out of His Majesty's army in shame. Now he was stumbling about in a hot dusty place. He was meant for better things. His mind went to glittering stones just beyond reach. They were rightfully his. After all if it weren't for him that bastard would never have joined the army. They were rightfully his. He was owed. He was entitled. His hand went to his throat and he absently felt the scar there where the hangman's rope had cut into his skin as he'd dangled. They had hanged him, but he hadn't died. He couldn't die. Not that upstart bastard nor his knife wielding whore, nor any in the Tippoo's army in India or even Napoleon's in Europe, nor any in this American land had been able to kill him. He'd lasted. He was touched by God. He was doing God's will. He knew this in his being. And no man could kill him. With the memory of his invulnerability fortifying him, he pressed on. He saw a shack in the distance. He was hot, hungry, and angry. Surely one or all of his needs could be met there.

* * *

Victoria gazed out the hacienda window not even seeing the play of light as the sun rose. Her husband didn't stir in his sleep as the light fell through the casement, but he snored softly in their bed. She turned and gazed at him and couldn't help smiling. Zorro snored! Who would have thought it?

It was amusing her now, but some nights she wanted to smack him with her pillow. Not just for snoring, though that was certainly annoying enough, but also for worrying her with his late night rides and reminding her when she scolded him of his duty to the people of Los Angeles. She mostly hated that because he sounded so much like what she would have said just last year. He, as Zorro, had a responsibility to the community and to justice.

But the more she examined her feelings, she realized that though she loved him, there was no doubt of that, she was angry. She wasn't angry that he felt he owed the people his loyalty. It wasn't just jealousy of his attention to his cause, or simply fears for his safety, though those feelings were present. It was jealousy of him, of his freedom.

Diego had never asked her to give up her independence. He'd assumed she'd continue to run the tavern just as she'd done for most of her life, and she had. However, every offhand comment of his, though she realized he'd meant no harm, inquiring when she would be home and asking when she expected to leave, sent her into a quiet fume. He expected to know her whereabouts. He must know her comings and goings, but he retained all the freedom of his bachelor days. He could ride out all hours of the night and leave her to worry! She found herself resenting him, adoring him, and fearing for him and for the state of her heart should she lose him all at once.

She didn't like it. It wasn't the pretty fairy story ending she'd been silly enough to envision for herself. It was real and ugly. She needed away from it. She needed to put this new life into perspective. With the clarity of hindsight, she realized this had new life had formed far too quickly. They'd gone from a romance to the reality of marriage almost before she'd been able to think about the whole thing, or who it was she was marrying.

She'd thought at the time that they'd basically been courting for years, so waiting longer had seemed silly, overly cautious. Why wait? But now, she regretted…well not regretted exactly…she just reconsidered their haste, not the marriage. Now she needed the perspective of distance, but even with that in her mind, her hearted wanted to bleed at the thought of leaving him.

She gazed at him on the bed. He looked somehow both older and younger in sleep. His brow furrowed as if he felt his quest for justice and its weight even in sleep, lending to a look of age. His right hand pillowed under his head and audible snore seemed to lend to a youngish air.

As she fondly took in the sight of him, she realized they'd really resolved nothing the night before. She found herself blushing at the thought. Well, part of her marriage didn't fill her heart with ambivalence. Indeed, she knew that her own hot blood, as well as her husband's had been part of the reason their marriage had been so rushed. The lack of resolution couldn't be helped; however, today she must go.

To save her marriage, she must leave and resolve these resentments before they soured and devoured it.


	18. What Some Gentlemen Prefer

Fifteen Years Before

Chill settled into Fitz's bones and he moved closer to the fire to warm them. The cold rarely bothered him, but tending to such a simple discomfort helped him forget about other worries.

The sounds of the camp usually calmed him, but not tonight. Still, he sat silently across the fire from his fellow rifleman, Harris, both of them listening to the hustle and bustle of the army camp. Men were cleaning their own and their officer's weapons, rifles and muskets, swords and bayonets clanking all around. Conversations were going on in a dull hum, some tales of homes miles away, Donegal here, Yorkshire there. Some others were bawdy stories causing laughter and comments increasingly lewd . Someone was even singing ballads a few tents down, but in front of their lieutenant's tent Harris and Fitz maintained their silence. It was if some unspoken competition was going on between the two of them on who could be the most morose, taciturn one.

Lieutenant Wright had been invited to dinner with the other officers. Fitz knew how much Wright hated that. He'd soon return and in a foul mood. All the other officers, almost without exception, looked down on Wright as he wasn't of their class. A man born in one of London's most notorious rookeries hadn't the right to sit beside the men born to privilege and power who had purchased their commissions like gentlemen. What's worse, he was a fine soldier. He made them look bad. Wright and his men prided themselves on being first on the field and last to leave it. He and his fellow riflemen, liars, thieves, murderers all, the filth of the British Isles, fought fiercely and successfully, and made the puffed up, incompetent better born look…well, puffed up and incompetent. They knew it and resented him for it.

Harris passed Fitz the flask of whiskey they had been sharing. It was vile stuff, but helped stave off the cold. That was when a sour faced Wright returned.

He ignored the two men around the fire and headed straight for his tent.

* * *

Catarina held her breath as he entered the tent. He didn't even see her in the back, but it was dark and he hadn't brought in a light. She could see him well enough for her eyes to widen as he began to angrily disrobe.

After he'd saved her and her sister, he was like a grim, though gentle, angel of mercy. He brought her and Josefina to the women of the camp. One woman in particular, Ramona, had taken the two of them under her wing. She was the one who'd told her his name. Wright. Catarina had also learned that he's warned the men of the camp away from her sister and herself or else they'd answer to him.

Learning that, had filled her with a glow such as she hadn't felt since before the French had invaded her home and murdered her parents. She wanted to be near him, she hadn't thought things through more than that. So, when he had finally lit a lamp with his back to her, she couldn't think of anything to say or do but just stood there staring.

He was standing there without the dark green rifleman's jacket, and she watched as he pulled down his suspenders and followed that with the shirt he wore underneath. When she saw his bare skin it wasn't his state of undress that shocked her, but the state of his back.

It was a mess of long raised scars crisscrossing and the angry marks so numerous she could barely see where one ended and another began. She didn't know if she wanted to weep or reach out and soothe the long ago hurt with the tips of her fingers. Before she could do either he cursed under his breath and pulled his shirt back on and stormed back out of the tent.

* * *

"Fitz!" Wright all but shouted as he exited my tent. "What is this?"

He was holding one of his green jackets, his dress jacket that he'd worn to the officer dinner was still in his tent. This was his battle uniform. It had been burnt and torn and patched and repatched over the years. There was a fresh tear and he was showing his sergeant the jacket with his fingers showing through.

"I think that's your jacket, sir." Fitz said, daring the Englishman's wrath.

"I know it's my jacket, but why is it still torn? I thought Ramona was going to patch it for me." He sounded annoyed but it was apparent to Fitz, who knew him well, that the jacket wasn't the true cause.

Fitz groaned. Wright would bring her up, and just as she was headed their way. The short dark haired lass was walking toward them with what looked to be murder on her mind. God save Ireland! Would she never get over her displeasure? But she headed toward Wright not him.

"Your jacket isn't mended because I'm not your maid, Senor Wright. Maybe that good for nothing man you call a sergeant could do it." She glanced at Fitz as she said it, but quickly looked back at Wright. "I'm looking for Catarina."

"Who?" he answered, looking confused.

"You don't even know her name!" she continued on in Spanish. They were words Fitz didn't understand, but he knew they couldn't be kind. It seemed to be a list of insults directed toward Wright which she finished with the one she seemed to consider the worst because she yelled it as she pushed him out of her way, "MAN!"

Fitz was lucky she didn't see the stupid grin that put on his face. She was generally the loveliest woman he'd ever seen, but when she worked herself into a temper, she was magnificent.

She headed into the tent and came right back out with a skinny girl. Ramona looked over at Wright, "She's in your tent half in love with you, and you don't even know her name." Without waiting for a response she pulled the girl after her and left a blinking Wright, laughing Harris, and grinning Fitz.

"What is wrong with her?" Wright said looking over at the other two men.

Harris didn't hesitate, "Fitz won't marry her, because his parents wouldn't accept a Spanish daughter-in-law."

Fitz wasn't grinning anymore. The Irishman was contemplating the advantages of running through his old friend with his bayonet.

"They already have a half Spanish grandson," Wright stated the obvious.

"I'm not marrying her just so she'll wash and mend your clothes. So forget it." He said grumpily. Then brightening he suggested, "Why don't you get 'Catarina' to take care of them?"

"Bloody hell, Fitz, she's just a child. I don't want her in my tent again." And with that he slipped back into said tent.

"I don't know, Fitz," Harris said. "She looked pretty determined to me."

"That skinny little thing? Don't be an idiot, you know he's partial to buxom blondes."


	19. All That Glitters

Theresa's muscles ached from yesterday's laundry. The work and the pain kept her from thinking about the husband she missed so dearly. For a full minute she lay in her bed just letting herself feel the bone deep loss, but before she lost her tenuous control, she rose from her bed to begin the flurry of work that would help her forget.

She checked on her little Anita, who slept contentedly in her crib. Theresa stopped for a moment just to gaze at her. She was turning out to be a late riser, just like her Papa. She reached into the crib to stoke Anita's silky hair. That's when she heard a crash in the other room.

* * *

She was gone. Diego almost bolted out of bed when he noticed. Victoria, gone already? He barely remembered to pull on a pair of trousers before running from the bedroom.

She couldn't be gone. She couldn't have left while he was asleep, without a word.

He found himself rushing from room to room, his panic rising and breaths coming in short gasps. Then he came to the library.

Victoria and his father sat at the chess table talking and playing. As they looked up at him, dumbstruck, he realized how he must look, standing there, half-naked and breathless.

"I thought you'd gone," he said lamely.

"I wouldn't leave while you were sleeping," she answered as she rose from her chair.

Diego could only nod, but after a moment he said, "Ummm, I'll just get dressed."

He left the room feeling like a fool, but also with intense relief. He still had time, another chance to talk her out of leaving.

* * *

Theresa didn't have a weapon. She considered grabbing her child and running out, but the only way out was toward the sound. She could try the window, but she couldn't leave Anita behind. She was probably overacting anyway. It could be Diego or his wife, come to check on her. She should just go out there and greet them.

Then she heard the voice, and her entire body tensed. Someone was in her home, speaking a language she didn't know. She had no choice but to hide in the bedroom hoping he'd leave. She hoped Diego would arrive soon. Then her baby began to cry.

* * *

Where was the food in this damn place? He started cursing out loud.

"Damn, damn, bugger, damn."

Damn frogs luring him here, into this barren country. He'd slit their throats the next time he saw them. Just take his knife and cut their lying French throats. He was tired, miserable, hungry and no closer to revenge to say nothing of the…Well they were rightfully his. He let himself think happily of slitting _that _throat. Something he should have done years ago, killed him and taken what he wanted.

There was nothing here. He was wasting his time. He was about to leave when he heard the baby cry.

* * *

"Lass, wake up," Lilly knew it was Fitzgerald before she opened her eyes and saw his large form leaning over her. "We have to get back."

Only he would have called her "lass." What she saw when she looked at him surprised her.

"What happened to you?" she asked. She slowly sat up and almost forgot to hold the sheets up to hide her form.

The big Irishman quickly turned his back, blushing, which made her smile. He was more embarrassed than she, but he hadn't answered her question so she said again, "Your face, what happened?"

"The major and I had a little disagreement." He headed for the door. "Let me know when you're dressed and ready, I'll be right outside the door."

The previous night, she hadn't worn anything elaborate and it wasn't long before she was opening the door. Her curiosity helped her hurry. She wasn't going to let him leave his explanation to "disagreement."

He had looked like he'd been in a barroom brawl. There were bruises forming around his left eye and cheek. His lip was spilt and red from the blood that was still oozing from the cut. He had also favored his left side as he'd left the room.

"Fitz," she said as she stood beside him in the doorway. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"Nothing much to tell," A door down the hall opened and he ushered her back into the room. "It isn't as if it's the first time the two of us beat the sh…stuffing out of each other."

He was looking everywhere but at her and she realized he wasn't going to elaborate on the subject. Then she saw the jacket hung over the chair in the corner. He'd left his jacket. She walked over to it and it was like there hanging on the chair was the final knell. It somehow made everything real and final. He was gone and he wasn't coming back.

When she picked up the dark green coat, and couldn't stop herself from lovingly stroking the worn and torn wool. Her eyes followed the black powder burns and stitching where a bayonet had ripped the fabric. She remembered the corresponding scar on his left rib. Memories flooded her mind and tears burned her eyes. He'd left this as a farewell gift? As if any possession would suffice. She dropped the jacket in anger and despair, and heard a satisfying thud. A loud thud that broke through her moment of sadness. She looked at Fitz.

He leaned over and picked it up. His hands felt the fabric searchingly until he found a lump in the fabric. He used the knife he always kept in his pocket to split the seam at the lump. What fell into his hands made him curse.

"That clever lying bastard," his words were harsh, but his tone and facial expression were both fond. Lilly looked down at the glittering gems that fell out of the coat.

She was the one who whispered, "Bloody hell."

Fitz couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips, "Bloody, bloody hell." Wright had kept them all these years after telling Fitz he'd sold them. "Clever bastard."


	20. Somehow

Alejandro didn't think Diego would be able to change Victoria's mind. The woman was nothing if not decided. It was something he'd noticed about her since she was a child. However, he also knew that sometimes Diego could be just as stubborn as she, and he could tell his son was determined to talk her out of it.

Yet again, his best option was to bow out of the situation and leave the couple to sort out these things themselves. He remembered how rocky his own marriage had been in the beginning. A couple always started with an idealized vision of what their life would be like.

He and Diego's mother had been no different, and that first bitter fight had made him feel like his marriage was over. He smiled at the dramatics of those days, before the two of them had learned each other, had learned the reality of living with and for another human being instead of for yourself.

After those hard lessons of youth, he'd had to learn it all over again for his son. To live for and with Diego had been a harder lesson than he'd thought, but he was proud of him. All these years, they'd had their differences, but they'd come to understand each other. Victoria and Diego would come to a similar understanding.

So he'd left the two and took over Diego's daily task of checking in on their tenant's wife. Ricardo and his family had recently settled on de la Vega land, and already they had endeared themselves to the de la Vegas. Don Alejandro loved to visit little Anita and imagine holding his own little grandbaby, so he was looking forward to this visit.

The little cottage was happily situated, and looked like so many other dwellings Alejandro had seen in his life. Utilitarian, two room cottage, but it was home to its inhabitants. On the outside it looked just the same as it had the many times he'd visited.

However, unlike other times, Theresa was nowhere to be seen. He thought nothing of it, settled and secured his mount, and rapped calmly on the door.

Then he heard a blood chilling scream.

* * *

"It's not forever, Diego," Victoria tried for what seemed like the hundredth time, but he was just warming to his subject.

"You don't mean it to be, but it could be six months before you arrive in London, Which makes it over a year before you get back to Los Angeles, and you don't have any idea what could happen in the meantime," he was pacing and with each sentence his pace increased and Victoria could help but smile. The poor dear was so worried.

"You're forgetting something," he turned to look at her with surprised and confused look on his face as if to say, "What could I have possibly forgotten?" She answered that unspoken question, "Wright and Lilly could really need our help."

She could read the ambivalence in his face. How could Diego deny a plea for help? He couldn't. He simply couldn't, and knowing that made her heart swell. She really did love him.

"Excuse me," the interruption was from a squat squinting man who neither Diego nor Victoria had noticed enter the room. He was a short unthreatening sort of man, with a pleasant and unexceptional round face. His voice was like the man himself, entering the room quietly as if not wanting to bother the people there. He cleared his throat and began again. "Excuse me, Lord Pumphrey sent me."

"Of course," Victoria answered. "Let me get my things."

* * *

The last thing Alejandro expected to see was Theresa lying on her cottage floor as a man bent over her pummeling her face and stomach. He didn't think; he acted.

He ran toward the stranger and knocked him over with the full force of his body and it wasn't until he landed on the earth with a dull unhappy thud, that realized he'd only upset the assailant's balance. Alejandro's breath left his body and as he struggled to regain it and his feet the stranger rose to his feet with a curse.

Alejandro looked over at Theresa who still lay in an unmoving ball. Was she alive? He frantically searched for the telltale rise and fall of breath, but couldn't detect any. He heard however the gasps and wheezes of his opponent and, _Madre de Dios_, was he laughing? He looked at the hulking villain and realized he was.

The man was tall and thin, but it wasn't his form that caught Alejandro's attention. It wasn't even the mirth and amusement on the vile countenance. It was the face itself. The man's face was a mass of scars and his grin was nigh on toothless, but the scar on his throat was the attention arrestor. It was a rope scar; it was where a noose had dug into the man's neck and failed to kill him. He'd survived the gallows.

"Come at me old man!" the intruder barked. "Georgie the third's executioner couldn't kill me, and neither could Boney's, so just you try, but you won't. I'll get you, just like everyone else who's tried."

The man was younger and stronger than Alejandro, but no one who had tried the Spaniard had had an easy fight. Amazingly he found his feet. A fleeting thought entered his head, that this was the perfect time for Zorro to appear, but this wasn't a novel or a play, Zorro wouldn't barge in at the last moment and save him. After all, Zorro was at home with his wife.

Alejandro faced his attacker, "Then get me you son of a…"


	21. Brighter Sides To Life

"You recognize these?" Lilly asked as she looked over at Fitz.

He nodded, "I saw him with them once or twice. I thought he'd sold them by now." Fitz picked up the largest piece, a ruby about the size of an egg. "I especially remember this one. He said he got it off a sultan, or tippo or whatever they're called, in India. Said the bugger wore it in a hat or something."

He held the jewel up to the sliver of sunlight coming in and it gobbled up the light to shine it back out, glittering and sparkling. Lilly recognized avarice and admiration in Fitz's gaze, but then he sighed and set the stone on the bed where they had laid out the others.

"The rest of these are from various officers throughout the war. Wright had a knack for finding the richest ones and cutting them down," Fitz smiled and the admiration and affection he felt for his friend was evident in his countenance.

Lilly was half-horrified, half-intrigued by the story. Fitz looked far away and fond, as if remembering good times.

"We had a grand time giving those bastards hell," at the last moment he looked over at Lilly as if remembering she was present. "Pardon the expression, lass."

She shook her head, disregarding his apology, "So, these are spoils of war, but that doesn't tell us why he left them here, with us."

"He didn't leave them here with 'us;' he left them with _you_." he stated pointedly. "This must be why he left. Why he was asking Lofton…There was a man, Fretwell, an old enemy of Wright's, who saw these jewels, during the war and swore he'd stop at nothing to get them." Fitz shuddered and it was as his body was remembering something painful. "He hounded Wright, but he died at Badajoz. Maybe he told someone about them and they're after them."

Lilly looked at the offending gems. Diamonds, sapphires and rubies were nothing to her. She had plenty of each in her own jewel chest at home. Some of which had been passed down in her parents families respectively for generations. Precious they were, but not enough to risk her life or happiness.

"Why not sell them?" she asked.

"These are his insurance. If there are dangerous men after him they'll keep him alive as long as he can lead them to the jewels. Without them, they have no reason to keep him alive. That must be why he let you become promised to another man. No one would believe he'd left them with the Marquess of Stallford's betrothed," he answered.

However, she wasn't satisfied with his explanation, "But why? Why leave them with me?" She couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice. It seemed to her that he was leaving the jewels as some pathetic balm to her broken heart. Surely he knew she'd rather face any danger at his side then any amount of gems. Didn't he?

"Don't you see, lass, you're the only one he can trust with them. These are everything he worked for his entire miserable soldier's life. They're his assurance of comfort in his old age, the fruits of his toil and bloody service to King George across Europe and beyond," he spoke earnestly and with conviction, but she couldn't tell if he was completely serious or simply being loyal to his apparently faithless friend.

"Do you think he's coming back for them?" she asked.

Fitz hand went absently to his swollen face. She realized that had been what the fight had been about. He had tried to talk Wright into staying.

Then he met her eyes, "I think, lass, if he doesn't he's a damned fool, and not because of any glittering stones."

* * *

Felipe had to get out of there yet again. One minute Pip had been waxing poetic about her old reptile bones and impressions of ancient plants in stone and the next Felipe was filled with an aching homesickness.

She was so passionate about naturalism and science he wanted to take her home to California and Diego, who would love her. She reminded him of his old friend, who had always wanted so much to interest Felipe in his experiments, but Felipe had always been more interested in fencing and action. Right now, he'd give just about anything to listen to one of Diego's long winded explanations. He remembered how he would meet Don Alejandro's eyes over Diego's shoulder and try not to laugh as the older man rolled his eyes expressively. He couldn't help thinking how much he knew his family would approve of Pip and how much he felt she'd love them, and the homesickness coupled with the heartsickness made him miserable. He left the house again to roam the streets of London.

The snow wasn't fresh anymore. In places he saw the effects of the constant haze of smoke. It was yellowing and browning the once pristine white. The magic sheen was leaving the winter and the city right before his eyes.

"Felipe!" it was Charlie. "Everything alright?"

The Englishman practically ran to his friend. Smiling. Charlie was always smiling. Was he never in a bad mood? And why was this bothering Felipe all of a sudden? He wanted to shout at him, but he couldn't, so he scowled.

"Homesick, old boy? I understand. I hated being away from this smoky foggy island," and his comical expression made Felipe's irritation melt away. His unfailing optimism and sense of the ridiculous was just infectious. Charlie always had a way to lighten his mood, but then Felipe wasn't a naturally dour person.

As his friend coaxed him to laugh, a dark figure on a black horse raced by.

Toronado? Zorro?

Felipe blinked and gazed blankly at the figure. The horseman stopped, and Felipe could see the white stockings on the animal, and the rider was darkly dressed but he certainly wasn't Diego. However, somehow the bearing of the man reminded him of his old friend. When the man dismounted and turned toward them, Felipe recognized him. Rossendale, the Marquess of Stallford.


	22. Behind the Hatred There Lies

"Alright, you're going. I'm resigned, but I'm following you."

Victoria was just picking up her bags when Diego made his pronouncement. He'd be been silent as she'd finished packing, standing there scowling at her and looking pensive in turns. Then without preamble he began speaking on this track.

He went on as if trying to speak over her expected refusal. "If Lilly and Wright are in trouble they might need my help as well as yours and if I'm close behind you I can be sure you're safe…"

"Agreed," she said.

"And furthermore…" he went on but then suddenly hearing her answer, "Agreed?"

"Yes, do you think I'm entirely unreasonable? Or utterly foolish?" she smiled as she spoke.

He looked completely nonplussed. "Yes…I mean…no. I just didn't expect you to agree so quickly."

"I know a year is a long time. It's a reasonable plan, you'll follow me a few months behind, and I'll leave you messages at each stop…" before she could go on he interrupted.

"Months?" he was disagreeing again. "I was thinking days."

"If you followed me days behind you'd catch up to me, then what's the point of traveling separately?" She spoke calmly and reasonably. She was thinking clearly for the first time in a year.

The shoe was on the other foot. Diego had to trust her to keep herself safe. He had to trust that she planned on and would come home to him in one piece. It was exactly what he expected of her whenever he left donning a mask and cape. But could he? Could he trust her with her own safety? He'd been her hero for so long, but now they needed to be equal partners, each trusting the other to safeguard the partnership. She didn't want to be like Senora Moreno, longing for a super man to protect her and incomplete without his presence. She wanted a marriage with this man, not the hero, not Zorro, the man, the somewhat confused imperfect man before her.

"Diego, I'm asking you for this, I'm telling you I need this." She put her bags aside and approached him, he was scowling and looking more upset than she'd ever seen. "I need you to trust that I'll come back." He wouldn't meet her eyes, so she ran a finger along his cheek and finally cupped his face and turned his head. Their eyes met and she asked, "Can you, mi amor?"

* * *

When the stranger made his move, Alejandro was ready for him. The older man pivoted away from the blow directed at his face and the momentum caused the scarred man to lose his balance. He rushed past Alejandro and collided with the wall.

The man turned and faced the Spaniard again. His eyes were full of rage and confusion as if he hadn't expected Alejandro to know how to fight back. Alejandro almost laughed with glee; his muscles remembered what to do. They might be slower and not as strong as his younger self, but they remembered.

The stranger took another look at him as if sizing him up a second time. Then his attacker pulled out a knife.

* * *

"Mr. Anderton and…de la Vega was it?" the marquess's smile seemed genuine, but there was just something about this man that made Felipe distrust him. Charlie didn't seem to have the same problem.

"Yes, it's Felipe de la Vega," Charlie said with the charming smile he seemed to have for everyone. "I say, you're out and about early, my lord and with a fine bit of horseflesh."

The marquess stroked the gelding's snout affectionately, "He's a beauty, but I understand that the de la Vega stables have many comparable horses." He looked at Felipe as he spoke.

Charlie shrugged, "The Anderton stables have nothing half so fine." The young Englishman looked longingly at the thoroughbred, but Felipe's mind was running a mile a minute.

What was this man's concern with the de la Vegas? Why did he know so much? Or care? Why was he gauging Felipe's every response?

"Walk with me," it wasn't a request and Charlie seemed excessively pleased by the marquess's attention. Felipe could do nothing but follow.

* * *

He wasn't happy about it, but Diego watched as Victoria and Pumphrey's man loaded the carriage that would take them to the ship. She kissed him goodbye and with a short look and wave out of the carriage she left.

He didn't understand why. He wanted with everything in him to follow the carriage that was taking her away from him, but she was leaving willingly. She wanted to go. He hadn't thought that anything could hurt worse than having himself as a rival, but now his whole being ached.

He wished he could scream his frustration. He wanted to talk about the whole thing with Felipe, but he was gone. He was away in Europe, where Victoria soon would be. He wanted to fight the alcade, but de Soto was more interested in the strange Senora Moreno to even do something worth Zorro's ire. He was alone save his father.

Where was his father anyway?

* * *

The old man had more fight in him than the soldier had expected. He'd met him blow for blow and the Englishman was beginning to think he ought to leave well enough alone. He wasn't interested in facing someone who fought back. Even the wicked dagger he brandished hadn't intimidated the old man.

This is why he had always focused on the ones who gave in easily woman and weaker men. This man was older, but determined, and the determined were ones he'd rather not face. He looked about the room for his escape, but there wasn't much except for the front door. The old man was between him and freedom.

The Spaniard used his momentary distraction to strike him in the jaw and then the ribs. The soldier could feel the crack. It wasn't the first time he'd had a cracked rib, and force of the blow sent him stumbling.

Now, he was angry. He turned his furious eyes to his adversary. The man was winded. He stood there bleeding and spent and the soldier could tell he had the moment. He had the advantage. The battle was about to turn.

* * *

"I'm quite interested in the Americas; I wonder what you could tell me," Rossendale smiled warmly at Charlie and the young English gentleman seemed excessively flattered at the lord's attention.

Felipe didn't understand the hierarchy of Spanish nobility let alone English, but he didn't understand the deference even more. Alejandro and Diego had raised him to judge a man based on his merit not his birth. He hadn't even thought about people believing differently than that, but it seemed here, in London, a man's birth was more important than anything. In London society, some men, based on an accident of parentage, had more worth than others. Even good natured Charlie operated under that assumption…even Pip.

"I don't really know much, just what Felipe here has told me," Charlie smiled as he motioned toward Felipe. The two talked merrily as Felipe followed.

They chatted and it seemed to Felipe that the subject was California and his own family more often than naught and he had no idea what to do about it. He cursed his muteness more than usual.

"That is so fascinating," Rossendale said. His smile was oily and he looked over at Felipe gauging his reaction again. He reminded the younger man of a snake watching his prey and that made Felipe take his eyes from the English lord. Where were they? He suddenly realized they were somewhere he didn't recognize. What was the Englishman up to?


	23. A Murderous Desire

Felipe didn't see the attack coming. No surprise as the fellow struck him from behind. His aim was either off or the assailant was incompetent, because the blow landed on his shoulder. Or maybe he'd moved at the last moment.

Felipe tried to turn around to face the man, but his next strike fell true. He didn't even get a look at the brute. He couldn't see Charlie. What had happened to Charlie? The last thing he saw as he fell to the ground was the marquess's smiling face. The lord hadn't been his attacker, but he'd arranged this.

It was his last thought before the world went dark…

* * *

John felt quite satisfied with himself for dealing so expertly with the young de La Vega. What a bit of luck he'd happened upon him this morning, but it was a shame that the Anderton lad was with him.

John felt a twinge of guilt. Anderton hadn't anything to do with this. It wasn't the English lad that he wanted. What's more he didn't really want the young Spaniard, but he needed him out of the way. He needed his journey to California to be clear and without suspicion. The de la Vega boy's every look had been full of mistrust and he couldn't have that. Not yet at least.

He shrugged off the feelings of doubt. His course was clear. It was what he had been working toward. Memories flooded his mind almost choking him. To keep from drowning, he consoled himself with thoughts of his goal. He must remember to pack his red coat for the trip across the Atlantic, because he was going on a fox hunt.

* * *

Catarina woke up to a pair of familiar green eyes. Amelia. An earlier riser than her mother, she often woke her in this manner.

After years of relative comfort in the convent Catarina had softened up a bit waking with and sometimes after the sun, but she was quickly becoming readapting to a life of danger. Sleeping lightly and waking early had once been a way of life for her, but Amelia was simply hungry. The girl always thought about her stomach first.

It made her mother remember mornings of waking to the sound of her own stomach. Then, in the thick of war, she had had to ignore the rumblings. It was something she never wanted for her daughter. When she looked up at Amelia she thought as she always did of the girl's father and corrected that thought. It wasn't what _they_ never wanted.

"Breakfast?" Amelia said with a raise of an eyebrow. She had a way of doing that just like Wright had when he was being inquisitive. Wright. Catarina let herself feel the bittersweet hope that he had survived the siege in Badajoz. If any man could survive the stairs collapse it was surely he, but she'd lived with the grief for too long. The whole thing was surely a method to lure her here. It was a lure she couldn't resist, however, the thought of seeing him again was too tempting. She still hadn't worked out the brothers' plan, but she would.

They surely planned revenge and that was another reason to give into the lure. Because she knew that they would not stop until she was dead. She needed all of the long dormant skills she'd acquired as a Partisan.

"Breakfast?" Amelia repeated.

"Breakfast," her mother answered smiling.

* * *

The damned English soldier had disappeared. Etienne had tried to pretend to Thomas that that occurrence meant nothing, and it was true that he and Thomas could catch and kill La Aguja. However, the crazy _cochon_ was a liability. He knew too much about what the brothers had planned. Not to mention that he seemed to think that he had his own plans for the _salope. _Though he seemed more focused on her missing lover and some fabled jewels. The idiot was convinced that the man would come back for La Aguja, but Etienne was sure he wouldn't. It didn't seem likely considering he'd apparently abandoned the woman years ago.

The Frenchman tried to ignore his doubts. It wouldn't suit his plans if the senorita had a champion. That would complicate things. Etienne hated complications. The crazy Englishman was a complication. He had to find him.

* * *

Alejandro knew he didn't have much fight left in him, and the stranger looked crazed as he stood there planning his next move, and what Alejandro thought of was his family. Memories, that were held so dear of his wife, son, and little Felipe. No. Felipe was man. And Alejandro had but one regret. He would never hold his future grandchildren.

The man began to lunge.

"Stop!" Neither man had noticed the newcomers until one spoke. Now both turned and looked at them.

They were obviously brothers. One tall and slender was brandishing a pistol and couldn't keep still. He was nearly hopping from foot to foot as standing on hot coals. The other the one that had spoken was shorter stouter older and calmer. He stood still and looked into the room with inscrutable expression. But they both had identical dark brown hair and eyes and the same large nose.

"You! You damned frogs!" he turned his attention to the brothers, lunging toward them, but the younger one moved in a quick and fluid gesture that disarmed the Englishman who landed flat on his back holding his wrist. "You broke my wrist, you crapaud!"

"You're coming with us, idiot!" the younger brother bent over the wounded man, spitting as he spoke.

"On y va, Thomas!" the older spoke, but his brother didn't move.

"He saw us," he said pointing at Alejandro. "And you used my name."

The older brother eyed Alejandro as if only just noticing him. His eyes were so cold and calculating Alejandro could almost feel the temperature decline in the room.

He felt the sting before he even saw the pistol in the man's hand. He fell to the dirt floor. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes were the men's boots as they walked out the door.

* * *

The ground was moving and Felipe's head felt like Toronado had trampled it. He tried to open his eyes but they stung terribly. The sun was beating down on him he could feel his skin burning with the heat

"Look, Girdy, the new one's opening up his eyes!" a man with an accent Felipe didn't recognize said.

He made himself open his eyes then, wished he hadn't. The two men sitting in front of him watching him with glee were two of the most hideous characters he'd ever laid eyes on, but that wasn't the worst part.

He heard Charlie groan and looked over at him lying curled up, he slowly uncurled his body and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and the two men started cackling merrily.

"I say, Felipe where are we?" Charlie asked. Felipe could only stare blankly.

"You're in the Navy now, boys," one of the men stated.

Felipe didn't know about the navy, but they were certainly on a ship.

* * *

Notes:

First I want to thank everyone who's stuck it out with this complicated and ambitious (perhaps overly?) story so far. I wish I could update more frequently, but my other obligations get in the way a lot. I now travel for work and it gets difficult to find the face time with my computer. I'm trying to update at least once a week, but sometimes I might miss one or (cringe) even two. However, I want to assure you I have this story plotted out and no intention of abandoning it. So please forgive me if I'm a little late sometimes, and thanks so much for doing so. I know I just left you guys with a bit of a cliffhanger so, I'm planning on another update later in the week. Thanks again for your interest and I hope you'll be pleased with the adventures I have in store for our intrepid heroes and heroines.

Cheers

Jude


	24. Chapter 24

He was being chased by a madman, and he couldn't catch his breath. His chest felt like it was on fire, but he knew he had to keep running. He tried to keep focused on his balance and footing, but the crazed man was on horseback and when he turned his head to check his progress his right foot hit something on the ground in front of him and he fell.

The ground was unyielding and a sharp stone pierced his palm as he instinctively tried to break his fall. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He'd never been more terrified in all his life, and that's when he heard the crack of the whip.

He dared not move one more muscle as the monster bared down. He heard the pound of the hooves of the great black beast of a horse approached with whip wielding rider. He prayed silently knowing the beast would trample him and the madman would likely laugh maniacally over his broken body.

But death never came. The horse stopped short of him and its rider dismounted. The sound of the man's boots on the earth echoed menacingly through the night air, and then he felt the sharp tip of the demon rider's blade at his back.

"Where are your masters hiding?" the man's voice was hoarse and low.

"I don't know," he answered pathetically. The tip of the blade pressed harder and he could feel his own blood, wet and sticky pooling on his back until it dripped down his left side. "I swear, I have no idea."

The man was not pleased by his answer and half growled while cracking the whip near his right ear.

He couldn't stop the whimpering sobs that escaped his throat as he began crying in earnest, "Please, I have a family. Spare my life. I promise not to cross you. I will do anything!"

"Tell your masters that Zorro is coming for him, that he will not rest until they are dead."

And he felt the pressure of the madman's blade leave his back, and heard the pounding hooves of the devil beast as the mad Zorro rode into the night.

He wouldn't be returning to his master's lair and before the week was out he had left California never to return. But his nightmares forever brought him back to this night.

* * *

Lord Pumphrey's coach and several of his servants had been there at the dock to greet Victoria. She wasn't sure all of what she had expected, but she'd certainly thought that a member of the Montgomery family would have been there when she disembarked. In fact, even when she reached their London house the family was nowhere to be seen. A pompous butler had led her to what he called the "red room."

It wasn't red.

It was an enormous expensively furnished drawing room. Bright blue patterned wallpaper adorned the spaces between brilliant landscapes and opulent portraits. Everywhere she looked lavish looking furniture and baubles filled her sight. She was almost scared to sit down lest she soil one of the richly upholstered chairs. Whatever she had expected this wasn't it.

The de la Vega hacienda was a fine well-appointed house, but it was a home. It was clearly a lived in family dwelling. Pumphrey House didn't even seem to be simply a house; it was a museum. None of it seemed in line with the young woman she'd met in California.

Lilly had seemed at home and at ease in Los Angeles even in Victoria's humble tavern and had never complained about her own comfort even in the thick of their shared imprisonment. Confinement she complained about, yes, comfort, no. She hadn't seemed like a woman used to and expecting surroundings like the ones Victoria was now presented with. Her unassuming nature was one of the reasons Victoria had felt threatened by the Englishwoman to begin with. She didn't know what to make of the contradiction.

Being able to focus on that, however, let her forget what she had left and was missing back home. She wondered how long it would take her husband to join her. She'd left him notes about her safety and progress at every stop as she'd promised, and for the most part her journey had been uneventful. Though she wasn't yet weary of travel and new sights and experiences, she did miss him.

The door opened and for a moment she thought that she'd conjured him with the force of her will when a tall blue eyed dark haired man appeared in the doorway, but no, it wasn't him.


	25. That's the Trouble

That day had come again. John had almost forgotten. This morning the sun rose and breakfast was served like every morning, but it was _that _morning. He'd known it as soon as he'd opened his eyes. The deep sadness and depression that always followed this particular day fell on him like a familiar cloak. He might almost welcome it, but he had planned to take his affianced cousin out for a jaunt in the park. An outing seemed pointless. Breathing in and out seemed pointless.

Somehow, however, he arrived at Pumphrey House and not waiting to be announced he headed to the so called "red room." The fact that everyone still referred to it as such was testament to the adherence to tradition in the household. The formal drawing room had probably not been red for a century at least.

He didn't look forward to an afternoon with his cold reticent cousin. He had yet to perceive any amount of fire or spirit in Lilly. Save for missing the ball where their engagement was to be announced, she did nothing that wasn't practical and sensible. He had to own now that she must have been sincerely ill. Ever since then she had been the dull china doll he'd always known her to be.

How was he going to marry her?

He headed straight for the window on the east side of the room looking out over the garden and wondered, how did I end up here, Roger?

"Who's Roger?"

He hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud, and he was almost certain he'd jumped high enough to hit the ceiling when he heard the voice. He turned to see something he'd never expected in the austere environment of Pumphrey House.

She was foreign, he could tell, and not just as in "not English." She was as uncomfortable in the formal room as he himself. Even if she had been in the latest fashion instead of her simple blouse and skirt, he'd have known her for what she was…other. Just like himself, or as he'd always thought of himself. Other…different from Lady Lillian Pumphrey, her father and their ilk.

And the woman was a beauty, but it was her expression that had caught him up at first. She looked at him with open curiosity and such honesty he found himself telling her the truth.

"My best friend. It's the anniversary of his death today," words he'd never spoken before fell easily from his lips when she requested them. But maybe he just needed to say them.

"That's terrible," the concern and sympathy in her eyes was genuine and a balm to his aching soul. "What happened?"

"I trusted someone…someone I shouldn't have. I urged him to trust him as well," he turned from her and closed his eyes. The remorse and grief was again too much. _Your fault! _His mind seemed to chant. "It led to his death."

When he turned to look at the woman again he was glad he did, because he saw it there in her eyes. That fire, passion, spirit, all the things his boring cousin lacked.

"What a…villain!" she said as if that were the worst insult she could come up with.

And John Rossendale, Marquess of Stallford wanted to laugh with surprise and joy, today of all days!

But before he could…

"Cousin John," it was Lilly. She smiled mildly at him, but then she saw his companion. "Victoria!"

It was the most emotion he'd ever witnessed her exhibit.

"What…" but Lilly seemed to think better of her question. "How impolite of me!" and just like that it was if the outburst had never happened. "Victoria, this is my cousin, John Rossendale, Marquess of Stallford, John this is Dona Victoria de la Vega."

That's when his heart went cold. De la Vega, Of course she was the wife of Deigo de la Vega who else would she be.

He felt his lips form a sneer, but he meant it when he said, "A pleasure to meet you."


	26. Now My Heart

Alejandro had generally thought himself a brave man. He'd faced battle and treacherous sea voyages. One particular passage had included storms so severe he was certain the ship would go down. He'd been injured and suffered illness. He'd grieved the deaths of his parents and three siblings that had never reached one year of age, but how was he, newly widowed, going to tell his young son that his mother was dead?

How would he face each day without his partner, friend, and lover and raise the child that had primarily been in her care?

He was terrified.

His neighbors had been free with the unsolicited comfort and advice. They stopped by almost unceasingly with plates of food and pokiness. That was how he'd come to think of it.

"You must miss her very much." Poke.

"And now with a boy to raise what will you do?" Poke.

"You might want to think of sending him away to school." Jab.

"When's he coming back from visiting his friend?" Poke.

Alejandro was wondering that himself. Diego should be back any moment now. He longed for his son's company, but also dreaded telling him. He wanted to avoid it, all of it. Families of their class typically allowed for their children to be raised by nurses and tutors. He'd be no worse than his own parents if he continued to leave Diego's care to servants or send him away to school.

Alejandro could send him away and wrap himself in his grief. That was what he wanted to do. He'd suddenly realized he was a stranger to his own son and that terrified feeling overcame him again. He'd thought of himself as brave. He now chuckled bitterly at the thought.

"Is it true?" his son stood tensely at the door looking in.

Alejandro was sitting in the library his face in his hands. He looked up at Diego. The boy was tall for his age and gangly, but he stood straight and tried so hard to look brave. In that moment, Alejandro knew he couldn't send his son away. Not any time soon. Alejandro wanted to make up for the lost time between them.

He needed family and structure. He didn't know if he meant himself or his son, but it didn't matter. It was true for both of them. They needed each other.

* * *

Diego had always had his father's love and support. After his mother died, the two of them clung to each other and even Diego's secret couldn't destroy that special bond. But his father's death could.

Now, he was a man without an anchor. His father was dead. Felipe was thousands of miles away and so was Victoria.  
Victoria. The thought of her, the memory of her seemed now like a painful dream. He felt like pain was all there was now. Pain and desire for revenge.

Every night he rode as Zorro intent on finding the men Theresa had described. She and her child had survived the incident, though she had been badly beaten. She told Diego that there had been three men, two French and one English. All he had to go on was her physical description of the Englishman, because she hadn't seen the Frenchmen.

No one of their description had arrived in the pueblo, but there was talk among the thieves and bandits of the area of two ruthless Frenchmen and Zorro was hot on their trail.

He'd sent a challenge to the men and he was close to finding their hideout. When he did, he wasn't yet sure what he would do.


End file.
